Sins of the Matador
by J. C. Madison
Summary: Nothing sparks mystery, murder, and romance more than the movie industry...1940. The young injured Matador arrives in Hollywood to train the famous movie actor, but the actor's wife is more to his liking. She is very young, and beautiful. Both she and the house he occupies are very much haunted by the ghost of a silent film star. How many sins can one man commit in a lifetime?


Sins of the Matador

Sins of the Matador

2012

Dedication

Possibly…to all the romantics of the world. Those who would love a red hot blooded Latin Lover! One who will touch those places that long to be touched…and curl your toes on a cold winter's night!

Forward

There is nothing like a man of mystery. Women have been drawn to them for centuries. They have lost their hearts and souls to these seemingly dark, elusive, haunting Don Juans. These men spark the interest; get the female heart beating, pumping in desire and wanting more, until a woman might be tempted to lose her soul, to give up everything for him!

Prologue

The bull looked him straight in the eyes; they were deep brown, as deep and brown as any he had ever seen, almost bordering on blackness. Their eyes locked. The crowd cheered. Roses were suddenly strewn all around his feet. The ground was saturated in their petals. The colors and essence were overpowering. His heart pounded with the sacred adrenalin of life.

He kept his knees locked in position. He kept his head down, a straight line from one gallant soldier to another. His arm raised, the sword pointed at its mark. He had done this many times.

He concentrated on the kill…the thrill! He concentrated on the spirit of the mighty beast. The bull grunted, the air flowing from its nostrils. He did the same; only his breath flowed more softly, easily, much more controlled. And he was most definitely in control. This is what he had been trained for, what he lived for, he like his father before him. His father, Don Juan Della Cruz, the greatest bullfighter of all time, the memory splashed through his mind.

He saw his father as the mighty warrior. He saw his father as he braved the bull, watched as his father started to plant the saber. And then he watched as the bull tore into the famed Matador. His thinking became blurred, mixed with the screams and stains of blood.

That brief second in time, that brief intermission of thought. He realized his mistake. He realized and the bull realized. He like his father before him had ultimately made the same mistake.

Seconds later he felt the excruciating pain, saw the red of the poignant roses; only this red was not from the roses. This red was blood red. This was his life's blood. The brilliant crimson pumped from his body.

He heard the cries. His eyes rose to the stand, the crowd stood on their feet. He saw their eyes, heard their sobs, and watched them falter. His eyes then rose to the blue heaven above, his last glimpse of white clouds. But it was not clouds he saw, just the stark, cool white color of the angels.

Chapter 1

The land was rich in color. It was late fall, and the colors mixed in their brilliant tones forming a pallet of perfection. The earth lay silent. The cool autumn breeze whisked through the trees. The majesty of life loomed all around. The purples, burgundies, and golden hues of leaves ripened on the trees and fell to the ground. The gentleness of the air blew them into soft stacks of childhood play. He watched as the children tossed them into the air.

He sat there on the long winding porch. He remembered those days that now seemed like an eternity ago. He remembered and wished for an instant that he could go back through time. He wished that he were young again…that

he were whole. He wished…

The sting of the heart was felt and then the blast of a haunting memory. It was a memory that brought him agony. His head reeled, his heart wrenched, and he touched at his leg. Oh, yes, he remembered back to that day.

His touch brought chills to his body. After all these years the limb still felt unusually numb. His fingers groped, touching the soft spot of remembrance. It was still there, it would always be there, till the end of his life. His body tensed with the thought. His mind focused…

"Alejandro…"

He heard the words as plain as day.

"Alejandro, your papa is waiting."

He looked to the pile of leaves, he saw the boy playing there. He watched as the boy seemed to ignore the calling.

"Alejandro, don't you hear me?" He watched as the beautiful woman came to the young boy. She touched at him. He stopped and looked up.

"Your papa is waiting…come." She put out her hand, and soon his little hand was wrapped in hers. The child looked up into her eyes and smiled. Her heart melted, and she knelt down and pulled the boy into her breast. Her arms held him in that motherly grasp and then she kissed him.

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The boy's eyes sparkled and his arms flew around her neck. They were lost in time for a few seconds and then the woman picked him up.

"Your papa's leaving. Come say goodbye to him."

The boy struggled in her arms. She sat him back down and he ran toward the hacienda. She studied the little boy for a moment and then followed.

The boy dashed across the courtyard, up the stairs and ran to his father. A smile broke out across the handsome man's face. The boy leapt into his father's arms, and the man tossed him up into the air. The boy laughed and begged for more.

"Tonight, when I get home."

"Please, can I go with you?"

"Not this time, Alejandro."

"Please, Papa?"

"No, you know how I feel about that. You stay here with your mama."

"But I want to watch you kill El Toro!"

"Someday, but not today." The man sat the young boy down and watched the disappointment flood his face. "Go now; take care of your mama. We will celebrate tonight!"

"No…" and the boy ran back toward his mother. But he did not stop there; no, he ran to the pile of leaves. He planted himself in the middle and started pitching the leaves high into the air. Their bright colors formed a rainbow of colors, falling down all around him. He did not look up when his father called his name. He did not look up when his father entered the home. He did not even look toward the long, narrow dirt drive when he heard the motor of the car. No, he sat and sulked. And under his breath he muttered the words, "You'll be sorry!"

He was still pouting when he heard his name again. But it was not his father's voice he heard, it was his mother's. He did not look up; he was still feeling the angry torments of rejection.

"Why don't you answer me, Alejandro?"

He looked up at his mother. She had changed her clothing. She was dressed in her Sunday best. The dress was white and long and flowing. She looked like an angel. She wore a bright blue shawl around her shoulders and one of her beautiful hats, one that his father had given her. She was stunning.

"Come, I have a surprise for you." She held out his jacket. "Yes, we're going. I am taking you to see your papa fight the bull." Her eyes danced. "You're taking me to see papa fight El Toro?"

"Yes, but you are all dirty." She touched at the smudges on his face. "You need to wash; you don't want your papa to see you like this."

He rose and ran to the house. Rosa, the housekeeper, watched as he ran across the gleaming hardwood, up the staircase and out of her sight.

"Onde lei, arriba!" The woman shook her head.

Mama was waiting in the car when he came back down. He had washed and dressed in his good clothing. He wanted his papa to be proud. He had never been allowed to go to the arena. He had never watched his papa fight before.

It seemed like a long drive across the dusty road toward their destination. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep. When he awoke his mother had stopped the car and was gently pressing him awake.

They walked through the crowd of people patiently waiting to enter the arena. His mother carefully guided him to the special entrance. He looked ahead to the ramp in which his father would enter. He walked alongside his mother until she escorted him to a decorated box of seats. They entered and she motioned for him to sit down. He did as she wanted. He found himself at the edge of the balcony; his little arms sprawled out on the rim, his chin resting comfortably. He looked all around him. It was certainly a sight to behold. The arena was packed with spectators, all awaiting Don Della Cruz.

He could feel his heart pounding; he could hardly contain the excitement he felt. He looked at his mother. She smiled at him. She was so very beautiful. He knew his father must be very proud of her, as she was of the famed Matador. And then he looked down to the center of the arena. He looked to the men standing in the ring beneath him. All of them dressed in costume. The bright colors swarmed in glory. Last of all his eyes wandered to the bullpen and fell on El Toro.

The bull was clawing at the earth, panting to be let out. The great bull must be frightened, must be thinking about its fate. Alejandro felt a moment of sorrow for the beast. He knew that his father would eventually kill El Toro. There was sadness in the young boy's heart. But then he knew he must be a man. He needed to prepare himself for this death. He knew there would be a great feast provided by El Toro. The poor and hungry would be fed, nurtured by this great animal.

Alejandro heard the roaring of the crowd. He looked toward the ramp. He saw his father. The Matador was beautifully dressed in the color of gold.

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Don Juan Della Cruz shone in the brightness of the sun. The beads, crystals, and sequins sparkled all over him. The Don strutted before his audience, everyone cheering, calling his name.

Alejandro felt the pride surge in his young heart. He felt the glow of affection for a father so well respected and loved. He was thrilled to be here, his first bullfight, his first taste of kill! He watched with great enthusiasm. He wanted his father to be proud of him, as he was of his father. His heart seemed to burst with that pride.

The young boy watched as his father fought the bull. He watched as the lancer planted the long stick in El Toro's back. He watched the banderilleros place their barbed sticks into El Toro's shoulders. He watched his father's precise steps in tiring the bull into submission. It was glorious, and Alejandro knew then that one day he wanted to fight El Toro just like his father.

Della Cruz rose on his toes, his sword waiting in his red cape, carefully hidden from the bull's sight. Alejandro was so excited he stood on his feet…a small red flag fluttered from his hand.

Alejandro touched his leg again, felt the scar. He stretched his limb and rose to his feet. He touched at his cane, decided against it and walked toward the stairs and the courtyard below. If he thought about it, concentrated, his gait was almost as good as what it had once been.

His steps were precise. He made his descent and found himself in the tiled court. He remembered which way he had taken as a boy. He remembered the colors, the softness. They were waiting for him. He walked the distance of the yard and looked at the flare of colors before him.

The purple was royal, the gold…the color of the Matador, the red, and then he stopped.

The red pooled on the ground. The crowd screamed. His mother gasped in horror. The Matador, Don Juan Della Cruz lay mortally wounded. The wave of a small boy's flag of red had averted his concentration. He had looked up briefly, the crowd followed his gaze. The bull had charged. El Toro ripped the tip of his horn into the femur, lancing the artery pumping with blood. The Matador bled out on the gurney.

Alejandro hung his head for a moment as his mind struggled with the fate his actions had caused. His father had died from his negligence. He had unwittingly raised the flag as an honor to his father. He had never lived that moment down.

His mother had realized the outcome and the stigma that would be placed on their young son. Soon after the funeral, she and the boy disappeared. They changed their names. Don Juan Della Cruz died that day, there would be no reminders of the Della Cruz heritage.

Fifteen years later, a stranger, Alejandro Vivanco, walked into the Spanish bullring in Ronda. A new bullfighter, a new Matador was introduced that day. His mother, Carmen Vivanco, wished him well, but never entered the arena to watch him fight.

He was virtually unknown that day, but that had all changed. Alejandro Vivanco had fought and surpassed any expectations of the vast masses, including his own managers. He had literally risen to fame. He had a throng of followers from all walks and stations of life.

His money had insured his fame. His money had insured his friends and followers. His money had secured him a beautiful hacienda, a famous hacienda in Mexico. It had belonged to the beloved Matador, Don Juan Della Cruz. People found it fitting that he had acquired the large estate and land surrounding it from the late great bullfighter.

The home had not been lived in for many years. It had fallen in neglect and ruin. The once beautiful hardwood floors and balusters lay rotting in disrepair. But Alejandro Vivanco, the new Don, had spent a fortune on the hacienda. He had upgraded, remodeled, he had turned the home back into the show place it had once been. He had also modernized the kitchen and bathrooms.

The hardwood gleamed as it once had. The windows reglazed and now sparkled. New furnishings were bought and delivered. Drapes and cortinas donned the new windows. And when all was complete, Alejandro introduced his mother, Carmen, to the beautiful home. Her eyes filled with tears when she crossed the threshold into the resurrected structure.

The newspapers covered the event of the restoration of the Della Cruz estate. The reporters were intrigued that a new Matador from Spain had razed and repaired the once great home of another revered Matador. But no one ever thought they were in any way connected.

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Alejandro furnished his mother with a new car, although, she had not driven in the last 20 years. But he urged her to try her skills on the land they now owned. He too bought himself a new car, a 1932 Maserati V4 Zogato Grand Sport! It was a brilliant green color. Alejandro thought it to be perfect. It made everyone green with envy.

He found he loved to drive the back roads around his estate. He floored the pedal at 120 miles per hour. He liked the rush he felt when the gas pedal accelerated. It was much like the thrill he found in the bullring. He loved the feeling of fear. It had resurrected him from despair.

He dressed as the finest of gentlemen. He liked to wear tuxedos, either black or white. He loved the feeling of silk against his skin. His face was always clean shaven. He was exceedingly handsome.

Beautiful women naturally swarmed all around him. He was sensual, seductive, mysterious, and, of course, very brave. He had been at the height of his success for almost five years when the accident happened. That is what he called it, an accident, a strange turn of events, perhaps a bit of retribution for his fatal actions those many years ago.

Alejandro again looked toward the pile of leaves. Their colors sparked the memory of many things. Not all of them were pleasant. He wished he could change those events in history, at least two of them.

The old woman came to him. She handed him the letter. He looked up at her. She had aged over the years. He had found her and brought her back to the hacienda, back to what she considered her home. She had seemed very happy to be back.

"Gracias, Rosa." He looked at her and smiled.

"De nada…" Her words were soft due to her age. She didn't have to work hard anymore. Alejandro only wanted her to enjoy her last days of life in peace and remembrance of another time. But Rosa liked to be of help. She enjoyed taking care of the Matador, a chore she had enjoyed many years before. She remembered the other Matador, she had loved taking care of him, she had loved serving him.

Rosa looked to Alejandro. He was the image of the other Matador. Her heart dipped for a moment. She thought of the other man, he was the greatest Matador of all times. He was her son, Don Juan Della Cruz.

She had to stop the flow of tears that started to drip from her eyes. She did not want Alejandro to see her sorrow. He had enough to deal with. She turned and left the room.

Alejandro looked at the letter. He did not recognize the name or address of the sender. It was a complete mystery. He pulled his finger over the seal and opened the paper. He looked at the words neatly written on the page. He studied those words for what seemed like an eternity. He was overwhelmed with the offer there in print.

He tossed the envelope to the side. It fell on the floor; he didn't bother to pick it up. He really didn't have to think about it, he knew his answer would be no. An assured no! He did not want to be reminded of the bullring, or the fight. He didn't want to be reminded of anything that had to do with El Toro. He had fought that fight and he had lost. He just wanted to live the rest of his life in self pity. That is what any self respecting individual would do, that was certainly a laugh. No self respecting person would ever want to live like he did in self pity. No, he was a blight on the word respectability.

He rose from his chair. The soft leather was comforting and he didn't really want to leave its comfort, but knew he had to retreat from the words written to him. He wanted to escape. He walked, that too was a joke. His walk was a deliberate gait, a limp as some would call it. He was infested by that word limp! But in all reality that is what is was.

He felt like half a man, no longer the mighty hero, no longer the magnificent man he had once been referred as. He remembered the touch of the many women who had clamored for him. They had been numerous. He had never been without the touch of a woman. That is until now.

Alejandro was now celibate. He was alone. He shared the house with his mother Carmen, and Rosa, but they were the only females he let into his domain. The rest had either fled or been driven away by fear.

He walked to the gardens. Carmen had requested a garden and Alejandro had made sure her request was granted. He remembered the beautiful garden of so long ago. His mother had spent her afternoons in that garden. The flowers had brought her so much joy. But that all ended on a warm sunny afternoon.

It was now early January, 1940. He could smell the lovely floral displays. He closed his eyes and thought he could drown out his sorrows in the Mimosa. It only heightened his sensations. He stopped for a moment, looked up to the white clouds of the peaceful skies and thought of angels.

Later when Rosa called him to dinner he thought of the odd request in the letter. He lifted the fork to his mouth and tasted the roast. It was as always, delicious. Rosa loved to cook for him. She was an excellent cook. She always provided him the delicacies of life. Her black beans and tortillas were the best in the world. There was never a day that went by that he had not tasted of her 8

frijoles or homemade corn tortillas. But Rosa knew that he loved a good beef roast. She had purposely furnished him that tonight. She had seen him after he read the letter. She felt his remorse. Rosa was very wise. She had treated him with pot roast, potatoes and glazed carrots.

He enjoyed the dinner. He enjoyed the wine, a warm, rich red wine. It completed the meal. He sat long after his plate was empty. He sat long into the evening. The paned doors of glass were opened, and the sultry warm air filtered into the room. He kept his glass full so that his memories would fade into the silky moonlight.

Chapter 2

He was the last one to disembark the aircraft. He was the last one to brave the ramp. Even the pilot walked before him, an attendant beside him. He reached the stairs. He wondered for a moment why he had changed his mind, why he was here in the first place. This was probably the last place in the world he would ever have considered himself to be.

He carried his leather bag in one arm and his jacket in the other. He knew that the weather might be cooler than Mexico. The airport was filled with travelers, travelers from everywhere in the world. This was Los Angeles, what did he expect? This was his first visit to the United States. Everything had been neatly arranged for him.

A chauffeur was there waiting in the baggage claim area. Alejandro's name was printed boldly on the large sign. He was just the least bit annoyed, embarrassed by the sign, probably the thought that maybe his English wasn't good enough, but then how else would he find his driver. He walked slowly, deliberately, trying not to draw attention to his gaited walk. He raised his hand when the chauffeur looked toward him.

After they retrieved the rest of his luggage he was shown to the waiting limo. He had forgotten how nice it was to be chauffeured, and to be in the comfort of luxury. It wasn't long until he was delivered to the mansion in the hills. He was given the key to the empty house. The driver left him alone to inspect the premises while he parked the car in the garage at the rear of the home. He promised Alejandro he would deliver his bags to his room. The driver would be staying in the chauffeur's quarters and would be available to Alejandro whenever he wished.

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Alejandro opened the massive wooden door and stepped back into time. This had been the residence of one of the last living legacies of silent movies. The home was absolutely incredible, from the dark, rich brown hardwood floors to the elegant plastered walls of light cinnamon. The foyer was round, and the octagon table held a crystal vase of freshly cut flowers. Two enormous gilded mirrors faced each other from across the table, the tips of their golden frames almost touching the ceiling. He looked into one and found his image multiplied in both. He studied himself for a moment, possibly looking into eternity, and then turned away. One Alejandro Vivanco was definitely enough. He found the note on the elegant inlaid table, his name inscribed on the envelope. He slipped it into his hand.

He stepped forward into the great room, his eyes rose to the grand staircase, and then he thought about the climb. He wasn't sure he was up to it, the round set of stairs rose up and up and up. He looked around the room at the furnishings. French beige tapestries draped in beaded fringe hung at the leaded windows, and elaborate pieces of fine furniture surrounded him. The divan and matching chairs were covered in rich, warm, chocolate velvet, several others in patterned brocade. The room was very gracious and inviting.

He found a soft leather chair in the formal room and settled in for a minute. Glad to be off his feet, really giving rest to his gimp leg, he stretched out for a moment and opened the envelope. Five crisp, new one hundred dollar bills, American money, were enclosed inside along with a note from his esteemed benefactor.

Alejandro studied the words written for him. A seemingly warm welcome, an introduction to the great home, a detailed explanation of his next day's planned events, and a guide to his room. The words written explained there was a kitchen filled with everything and anything he had ever dreamed of. He thought about food, he hadn't eaten since morning, but food was not what he desired. A wet bar was within his reach, and he reached for a bottle of brandy, enough to ease his discomfort.

The brandy too was warm, and soon he was feeling no pain. He had watched the chauffeur enter the home and take his luggage to the staircase. The man nodded to Alejandro and he nodded back, and then the man disappeared up the stairs. Alejandro continued to sip the brandy. His eyes wandered around the room, touching on all the memories of the past.

The walls held fine pieces of artwork. He studied the pictures and realized they were worth a fortune, they along with the other pieces of graceful art décor of the twenties. Delicate porcelain figurines of beautiful women sat gracefully on the various side tables; he had seen some before…Royal Doulton, he remembered. He had purchased a few for his mother over the good years.

Standing on the floor near one of the massive settees, stood the art deco, bronze Biba girl with the opalescent ball of glass. He looked at the nymph, her body peaked and beautiful. Alejandro felt a twinge of nostalgia. Those days of beauty seemed to be so long gone. His brandy glass now empty like the home…void of the living. He then watched the chauffeur descend the staircase and quietly slip out through the servant's entry. He poured more brandy and watched it swirl in the snifter. He brought it to his lips and downed the glass. He was feeling very relaxed.

After a short period of rest, he rose and walked across the large sitting room to the glass wall. He looked out to the yard, to the expansive blue tiled pool that lay in waiting. He opened the French doors and stepped outside. He felt the soft night air sweep through his body. He looked down at the pool and felt the urge. He pulled at his shirt, slipped off his loafers, and then dropped his trousers. He didn't wait to test the water, no, he didn't hesitate. He dove off the side of the pool into the warm deliciousness and swam until he could swim no more. The stars of the evening were the only source of company he found that night.

The climb that he had dreaded became a blur. His body was saturated with brandy and weary for rest. He dropped to the bed and was fast asleep before the stroke of midnight.

In the morning Alejandro awoke to the freshly risen sun in the east. He found the balcony just outside his bedroom window and turned toward the warmth. The sky was blue and just a short distance away he saw it, the enormous white sign loomed in front of him…Hollywoodland!

He studied the letters; they were freshly painted and very large. He had heard about the sign. Everyone commented about the big wooden structure welcoming the masses. He looked down at the surrounding scenery. Everywhere he looked he saw greenery, palm trees, flowers, red tiled roofs, mansion homes, he was here among Hollywood's chosen. He was here in the land of the stars.

He then realized that he would be taken to the studio in just a few hours. He would be meeting one of the leading stars of Hollywood fame. It was this great star who had brought him here. No, not the star, but the head of the studio. The star had balked at the request. The producer and director had insisted.

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Alejandro thought about this strange request. He wondered why he had accepted. He wasn't given to caving in to such requests and there had been many, but that had been when he was at his peak. This was a little post dramatic. He remembered days of glory, his glory. He had been in his heyday, just like this actor.

The actor was another Spaniard, Ricardo Montoya! Montoya was thought to be the new Rudolph Valentino. Valentino had swept the country. He had been considered to be the most handsome man in the world. He was Italian and was known as the Latin Lover. His sudden demise brought mass hysteria to the female population. He was only thirty-one at the time. His death brought an end to one of the great romantic eras of motion pictures. But Valentino became an icon after his death.

Montoya, like his predecessor, was very tall, dark and handsome, and presumed to be a gigolo. He had been ordered by the top execs to wed and had taken a wife a few months previous. The women of the world were heartbroken. Alejandro wondered about the marriage. Montoya had women clamoring after him. Why would the top studio executives insist that he marry, it just wasn't good business.

Alejandro looked down at the blueness in the back yard. He decided he would have to take another swim before his business meeting. He didn't bother to put on a robe. He wore only his pajama bottoms to the pool, discarded them and dove into the waiting warmth. The pool was kept at a tepid temperature, and Alejandro enjoyed the pleasure of the water again.

An hour later he found the kitchen and had prepared himself breakfast, fried eggs…over easy, bacon, toast and hot coffee. He took his food to the small kitchen table. He imagined it had been used for the servants. He thought about the formal dining room, but no, he would dine in the kitchen. Tonight he would be entertained at the famed nightclub, Ciro's. It had all been explained to him in the note. He ate quickly and cleaned up his mess. A maid would be there before the end of the day, and tomorrow he had been promised a cook. That was a strange thought. He was so used to Rosa's cooking that it would be hard to change habits. Yes, everything had been promised him. He walked around the rooms in the lower level of the house. He studied the art work and furnishings that were much like the great room.

The great room he realized was just that…great! He studied everything in the daylight. The furnishings were an eclectic mixture of finesse. He thought of the man who had lived here, the great star. He had passed sometime in the last few years, and Alejandro understood the man had left no living heirs, no one to claim the fortune or the legacy. The home had become the property of the studio.

Alejandro studied the portraits on the large grand piano, the piano that stood there in all its fineness. He recognized most of the pictures found on the ebony wood. The women were young, beautiful, the men handsome, all pictured in their younger years. That had been many, many years previous, long before talkies. He imagined there had been many fine parties here in this room and that most of these people had been in attendance. Where were they now?

He found a billiards room, a study, and large dining room; it held an enormous plank table. He counted 20 chairs at the sides and massive tufted Captain's chairs at each end. He thought of all the formal dinners that had been served at that table. He wandered around touching things, studying, and then he climbed the spiral staircase to prepare for his appointment, but when he reached the top he paused. Whether for lack of energy, or just out of curiosity, he decided to look through some of the other bedrooms. The first door to the right held a smaller room tinted in a light yellow paint. A delicate white iron bed stood on one wall and a beautiful hand painted armoire on another. The armoire held pictures of Beatrix Potter's story book characters…Peter Rabbit, Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. The lively colors of lavender, green, yellow, blue and a touch of pink splayed on the lively little bunnies of fantasy.

The lovely bay window was adorned in white Priscilla curtains and held a darling whimsical window seat. Something touched his heart and sent webs of fleeting memories throughout his body. He remembered back to a childhood room of his. He imagined that this room had been designed for a small child. He felt the sadness rush through his heart. He retreated and closed the door behind him, these were not memories he wished to recall at this time. He started to walk back to his room, but the opposite door drew his attention. He crossed the hall and touched the crystal knob.

The room was a soft feminine color, a lovely shade of green he had never seen before. The large canopy bed loomed there near the balcony. The bed was draped in a satin chartreuse bedspread and bolsters. The dressing table, adorned with a large beveled mirror and laden with crystal decanters, stood against one wall. A small matching satin stool set close by. The draperies wore the same colored satin along with a lovely fainting couch.

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He had been inclined to enter the room, and he wondered why. He looked around and then crossed the room to the set of doors that met on the opposite wall. He touched at them; they were large, creamed in a luscious vanilla color. They opened at his touch. He stood in amazement, furs and evening gowns amassed there in the long, wide closet. He could tell by their design and style they were from another era, but they looked as new as the day they were bought. He walked the length of the closet, sometimes stopping to touch one of the garments.

At the end of the closet there appeared to be a soft glimmer of light and he went to inspect. He found the wall was actually a door and he gave it a small push, another room lay in hiding behind the great closet. His eyes touched on his strange find. The walls were covered in mirrors, floor to ceiling, crisp and beveled. The ceiling was a round dome and also held the glow of the looking glass. A small discreet lounge, patterned in Nouveau damask, touched the plush carpeting below. Suddenly he had the feeling that he was invading into someone's privacy and shrank back into the closet, through the bedroom and out to the waiting hallway. He went straight to his room, showered and dressed for the upcoming meeting.

He had on one of his double breasted suits, grey pin striped, white starched shirt and grey and black striped tie, with matching handkerchief. His suspenders were a deeper shade of charcoal. That is one thing Alejandro Vivanco knew how to do and that was dress in the finest, to the nines as the Americans would say, either way he liked what he saw in the mirror. He was no longer the clean shaven young Matador, he now wore his hair a little longer, and sported a slight beard and mustache. But all in all, he still looked handsome.

He looked at himself, studied his image. If he concentrated, no one would ever know of his injury. He had to do just that. He had purposely left his cane back home. He had worked his leg, stretched it day after day. He had walked without the cane for the entire week before his flight. But at the end of each day he sought the comfort of his bed. Now he could also seek the comfort and warmth of the pool. He could exercise the bad leg, swim to his heart's content. Just maybe he had made the right decision in accepting their offer.

He felt his pulse beating madly in his forehead. He felt his heart pounding rapidly. He looked to the beautiful woman sitting across from him. She had stirred his soul. He had never ever seen a woman as exquisite as she, Madeline Mary Montoya! Her legs were locked in such a feminine poise. They were silky, and her feet touched down to earth in a pair of white peeps. She wore a soft white lace dress that fell when she leaned over, he could see her breasts almost down to their tips, that faint touch of pink. He was swept up in the moment and then his eyes rose to her face.

Her hair was pale blonde, natural. Her eyes a deep shade of aqua. Her skin was almost as white as her dress, pure he thought, but touched with soft peach, succulent was what came to his mind. Her lips, well, her lips were painted with the bright red color of rubies. She looked at him, looked past him, she took his breath away!

Alejandro sat there listening to every word being spoken to him. He was lucky, he was listening to the words, and yes, he would remember everything being told to him, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was where his loins wanted to be. He thought about the lusciousness of what lay under that white lace. He thought about his years of abstinence. All he wanted to do at this time was to get laid and not just by anyone, but by Madeline Montoya, the actor's new bride.

Her eyes locked on his for a brief second. She even smiled across the room at him. She looked comely; he felt the lust of that word. He was lost in her beauty. He found himself envying Ricardo. He wished with all his heart he could stand in for Montoya, lay in for him would be more like it. He felt the blood pumping and not just in his face.

"We're happy you decided to join us, Mr. Vivanco."

Alejandro looked to the man speaking, Mr. Leonard Goldstein. He was one of the founding fathers of the company, Sheridan Motion Pictures. He had outlived and outwitted his other partners. Everyone knew of Leo Goldstein, his name was somewhat fitting, for everything he had ever touched had turned to gold. Goldstein was a rather short, paunchy, but overwhelming man. He was well into his late 60's, had white hair, balding at the top. His eyes were piercingly blue, he might have passed for Saint Nicholas, but he was not a jolly old elf. He chewed on a cigar and kept his decanter of brandy close at hand. He had not bothered to offer anyone a drink, as was customary. Alejandro did not like the man from the moment he stepped into his ostentatious office, everything from the brocade couches to the golden frames of gilded mirrors. A large sideboard held crystal decanters of liqueurs and flutes. The white lacquered desk stood in front of the glass wall, it was enormous. But the large desk looked miniscule in the presence of this overpowering individual.

16 17

Alejandro had watched the man carefully. He saw Goldstein's eyes focus on Madeline. She avoided his eye contact. She kept her eyes focused on her husband. He noticed that Madeline seemed very quiet and reserved, almost nervous. He wanted to stay there with her, take care of her, but he was being requested elsewhere.

He was asked to accompany one of the men in the room, Steve something, he really wasn't listening. He rose and followed the man. Goldstein did not bother to rise, just as well; Alejandro didn't care for the man. But he did ponder on Mrs. Montoya, the somber look on her face. He assumed she was not comfortable in that room. He also had the feeling Goldstein wanted him out of the way, maybe for some other business he had with Montoya, something more personal. His thoughts wandered, and then he found himself on a guided tour of the Sheridan Industry. It was not the gold carpet treatment but came close.

Steve led him through the sets and stages of the great studio. He watched as performers played their parts, listened to a few of their lines, made eye contact with several leading stars. He walked the floors of the legends, pictures of actors peered out at him, walls covered from floor to ceiling with all the golden greats of motion picture history. He was even shown through the commissary. He saw everything there was to see, but none of it was what he wanted to see. He yearned to be back in sight of Mrs. Montoya. Just her name gave him rise.

But when he got back to Mr. Goldstein's office, she was gone. His heart took a dive. Then he was inside the limo heading back to the home in the hills. He would have time to rest up for the evening. He was told that he should wear a tuxedo, did he have one? Of course, he prompted them. They had been ready to furnish him the best, but he had outwitted them. He had brought the one that had been specially tailored for him just before the accident. He had never had the opportunity of wearing it.

There had been no reason to celebrate. He was badly injured that day. Many spectators thought he had succumbed before he ever reached the hospital. They had remembered the other famous Matador, the one who did not survive. Alejandro had lain in bed for almost six weeks. He had survived but his spirit had not.

The black tuxedo had been left for the last five years, carefully wrapped in the luxurious case it had come in. Alejandro had been prompted to bring it to Hollywood. He hoped that it would still be in style. He hadn't attended any formal invitations for just as many years as the tuxedo had hibernated within the cedar lined closet.

Alejandro looked in the long mirror standing in the room. He touched at the fine material. He shot his cuffs and touched at the onyx studs on his wrists, he touched at his hair, smoothing it in place. He looked down at the shine on his shoes. He was perfect.

He had done what Mr. Goldstein asked him to do, he had rested. He had also taken a relaxing swim to ease the pains radiating up his leg from the long tour around the studio. He had to grimace in pain before the end of the tour. Only his thoughts of Madeline Montoya brought relief to his body. And then she had not been there at his return.

Alejandro turned and left the room. The maid was waiting downstairs. She looked at him and smiled with every fiber of her body. She came onto him, but he was not interested. She was young and very pretty, but not what he desired at this time. She would have succeeded in her seduction years before, but he just smiled and exited the house.

The limo again was waiting. He nodded to the chauffeur, Oliver, Oliver Chadwick, he hadn't forgotten his name. They had spent time traveling back and forth. Alejandro had asked Oliver many questions and he had remembered everything.

Oliver opened the door for him and he stepped in. "It looks quite different at night, doesn't it?" Alejandro commented. Oliver looked through the rear view mirror at the handsome man in the back seat. "Yes, yes it does, sir."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"Not long, about as far as the studio."

Alejandro sat back and looked out the window. The enormous houses were bathed in light. He felt the pain in his leg. He massaged it and tried to think of something else, his mind wandered to Madeline. He finished the ride in quiet solitude, only seductive thoughts of the woman who had captured his heart.

Ciro's was located on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. It had opened early in January. Billy Wilkerson built it on the old site of the Club Seville. Wilkerson was the founder of the Cafe Trocadero; he also owned one of the leading newspapers. Alejandro had heard of the Trocadero, Ciro's he had not.

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Ciro's had become an instant, overnight hit. All the stars flocked there, abandoning their more recent trend to stay at home. It had a sophisticated exterior facade. The inside was a Baroque confection. The walls were draped in heavy ribbed silk, dyed a pale Reseda green. The ceiling was painted a bright American Beauty shade of red. The wall sofas were soft silk dyed to match the ceiling. The stars could literally sink into their softness and comfort. Bronze urns served as lighting fixtures around the bandstand. The reporters had played up the beauty of the place for weeks before the grand opening. Anyone who was anybody would be there, and the papers had reported correctly. Every star in Hollywood came out and filled the club for two subsequent nights of gala openings. The newspapers and gossip columnists had a field day, and kept the fever up daily with the comings and goings of stars that frequented the club.

Alejandro had seen many beautiful nightclubs during his time, but this was one of the most elegant of all times. The dance floor was filled with people, stars. He looked at all the couples, and then he looked to the table in front of him, the table he was being escorted to…she was there!

He had not even sat down. He stood there for a brief moment; shocked at the request, he had to think of Montoya's exact words.

"Do you mind dancing with my wife?" Alejandro had looked to her. Her eyes sparked. "Ricardo, please…"

"Nonsense, Mr. Vivanco would love to waltz you around the floor, wouldn't you." He had then turned to Alejandro.

"Of course, I would be honored." The words fell from his mouth. He put his hand out to Madeline. She looked as lovely as ever. Her dress was the color green of the French liqueurs. It reminded him of something. He tried to think but it eluded his mind. He looked at her, staring for a moment. Her beautiful long blonde hair was wrapped up in a cascade of curls, a jeweled cluster of matching rhinestones hung between the curls. Her eyes were dusted with the same shade of green, an unbelievable contrast to the deep pools of blue.

"I have to make a call, I'll be back momentarily. Mr. Vivanco will take good care of you; you'll do that won't you?"

That was all that need to be said. Alejandro would most definitely take care of Mrs. Montoya. That is what he had wanted to do all day. She put her hand in his and he helped her to her feet. He led her to the dance floor. He pulled her into his body. He felt her breasts, felt their rise and fall. He had always been a good dancer. That is how he fought the bulls; the quick steps had given him a distinct advantage. He only hoped his leg would not fail him. But at this moment, the pain in his leg had subsided.

"I'm sorry if my husband forced you into this," she whispered.

"I'm not," he answered, looking down into her eyes.

She looked up into his face. His was indeed handsome. His features were perfect, from his sparkling dark hazel eyes to his sensual mouth. Yes, he was every bit as handsome as Ricardo, but Ricardo's face bordered on pretty, Alejandro Vivanco was definitely a man! Madeline found herself smiling at him. He felt his heart race; could she feel the pounding in his chest? Or, better still, could she feel his blood flow to that vulnerable spot. It was certainly there, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Chapter 3

He awoke in a sweat. His head was pounding. His heart was throbbing and his hardness was steady. He had been dreaming. She had been in his dreams. After he had left her there at Ciro's he had thought about nothing else but her. He thought about his dream, she had been there. It was a strange dream. They were here in this house. He was in the room in the back of the closet, the room with the mirrors. She was standing there in the green dress. And then she had lowered the silk and she was bare. Her image was caught in every facet of the beveled mirrors.

He was laying on the lounge, watching her, captured in her beauty. He watched as she turned round and round, or was it the mirrors that were spinning? She had come to him. She had bent down to him. She had kissed him, she had caressed him. And then he thought of where she had touched him. He was still full from her touch. Was it a dream? It seemed so real.

He rose from the bed and went to his bathroom. He turned on the light and then went to the faucet. His fingers touched the pewter, he felt the cool water. He splashed his face and then looked at himself in the mirror. He was naked, his arousal was obvious. He walked back into his room, found his robe and walked down the hall to the chartreuse room.

That is what he remembered, her dress; it was the color of this room. He opened the door and felt for the switch. He touched it and instantly the room was filled with warm, subtle lighting. He found his way to the closet doors, opened them and walked through them. With each step he found that he was suddenly afraid. He touched at the gateway of mirrors. He felt a presence there just beyond the door. He stood at the portal looking in to a soft glow of light. For a moment he thought he caught the reflection of a woman, and then that reflection swirled around him in the room of mirrors.

His eyes followed her until she filled each and every mirror with her ghostly image. He felt the hair stand up on his neck, the goose bumps rise on his body. He felt the growing fear in his heart, that fear got the best of him and he fled. He walked as fast as his leg would carry him. He didn't stop to turn out

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the light. He didn't stop until he was safe back in his room. He locked the door behind him, and stood there with his back up against the door. His breathing was labored. The fear lingered in his body. This was certainly silly. Alejandro Vivanco had not been afraid of anyone or anything, ever! Not until the bull… El Toro. But even El Toro did not frighten him as much as the room of mirrors and the reflection therein.

He sat down on the bed. The bathroom light was still on. He reached for the small lamp at the side of his bed. He pulled on the chain. He didn't remove his robe. He lay back on the pillow and reflected on his strange dream, and even stranger episode in the green room.

Alejandro lay there, he could not sleep, he could not do anything but think about Madeline and the room. He looked at the nightstand. A book was there lying on top. He picked it up, opened it and settled back to read a few lines. He needed something to rid his body of the growing anxiety of something he could not control.

The book opened to page one hundred and four. Why that page, he wasn't sure, but then the words popped out and filled his mind with haunting thoughts. Oh Lord, he was a goner. This is not what he wanted to read. He shut the book, quickly. But the image of the woman pictured on the opposite page stayed vividly in his mind, of course, she was the woman in the mirrors! His heart fell, his hands trembled. He fumbled with the book and tossed it to the floor. He looked down for a moment, studying the words on the cover.

Mr. Goldstein had arranged for him to stay here, in this house. Why here? And why had the book been left there? He thought about the words neatly written inside…her story. He thought about finding another home... immediately, or maybe going back to Mexico. But that would never do, he didn't want to leave, not now, not since he had touched Madeline.

He needed to think. No, what he needed was to go back to sleep and forget about the room. He needed to forget about the book. But somehow he knew he could not forget about the lady in the mirrors! He felt like a small child again, but he didn't care. The lights were left on. He studied the interesting lines of sculpture on the ceiling until they ran together. Before he realized it, he was sound asleep, and this time it was a pleasant sleep. Madeline was there, she was touching him, touching him in all the right places.

When he awoke he was refreshed. He had to chastise himself. He had been silly. The room was not haunted. The words of the book were wrong. The room was just that, a room, his eyes had probably deceived him. Because he certainly did not believe in ghostly creatures! He realized he would have to work his way through this. He heard the knock on the door, and he sat up.

She didn't wait for an answer; she opened the door and entered. She carried a small silver tray. She stood there beside him, smiled her provocative smile, and placed the tray down on his lap. And as she did so, her fingers fell across his hardness. She didn't blink or make a sound, just feathered him across the blanket.

What did she think that he would bed her there and then? He looked at her, she was really very pretty. And his firmness was still there, just as hard as ever. She could feel it. Her fingers had lingered there. He knew it and she knew it. Oh hell, he thought, and his urges almost got the best of him. He had to stop or he would go all the way with his desire.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

He looked up at her. She knew there was something else, something there under the sheet, something there requesting her to stay. "No, there's nothing else." He found the words were hard to speak, almost as hard as his lust.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." But he wasn't sure and she knew it.

"If there is nothing more, I'll leave you to your breakfast."

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I'll leave you to your breakfast."

"I don't think I got your name."

"Elsa…"

"Well Elsa, thank you very much."

"You're very welcome. Just call me if there is anything else, please?" And then she was back touching at the tray, fumbling beneath it. "I'm sorry, sir, your orange juice was about to fall." But she didn't stop it; in fact, he had the sincere, intense feeling she had jarred it. The glass tumbled and the juice fell from the glass. It covered the blanket, seeping through the sheet to his flesh. He didn't think for a moment, his reflex got the best of him and he jumped from the bed. The tray, the eggs and the toast went flying.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry, let me help you." Her hands reached for him. His robe fell open and she could see him. Alejandro, like his father was well endowed. Her eyes widened as she explored his nakedness.

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"I'm fine, really, just clean up the mess." He pulled the robe around him and walked back to the bathroom. He was feeling rather foolish. Any other time he would not have hesitated. He would have seized this moment to relieve himself. He would have filled her as he had done so many other women in the past. Why, did he stop this time? It was not the thought of his lack of performance in the past five years. There were other ways he had relieved himself. He was hard, very hard! He knew he could perform, but he found it strange he did not want to, not with Elsa. He wanted someone else.

He showered and came back into his room. Elsa had gone. The room was tidy, the bedding changed. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. Even the book had been placed back on top of the nightstand. He walked to the stand, looking at the words of the title. He quickly flipped it over, a picture of the author was much better than words. He looked toward the door, he thought about Elsa. He touched the wood, his fingers resting on the knob, and then turned the key; he certainly didn't want her coming back. And then he thought…that was strange! He remembered he had locked the door the previous night; he had locked it after his strange visit to the green bedroom. He turned and touched the lock again, turning the key back and forth, making sure it did lock. How in the heck had Elsa managed to get in?

He was dressed and down the stairs just in time for Oliver. The door was open and Alejandro stepped into the waiting limo, glad to be out of the house and away from the mystery deep within.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

"Fine, why do you ask?"

"I just thought you were a little under the weather last night, you know when I drove you home."

"No, I guess I was just tired."

"Oh, that's good; I wouldn't want you to come down with influenza. They say it's very bad this year."

"No, I never get sick." And then he thought. "Oliver?" Again, the man looked through the rear view mirror. "Yes, sir?" Alejandro had to think for a moment, exactly how he would broach the subject. "Oliver, do you know anything about the house?" Alejandro studied the man's eyes there in the mirror.

He thought he saw a twinge before Oliver answered. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Do you know anything about the Owen house?"

"I know a little, what is it you want to know?"

"Is it haunted?" The words flew from his mouth and he wondered what would be the outcome.

"That is what they say."

"Who?"

"Everyone, it has been haunted since the day Mr. Owen supposedly killed his wife."

"Mr. Owen?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Owen."

"Mr. Owen, the movie star?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I don't understand, if he killed his wife, why wasn't he ever arrested?"

"Oh, he was."

"I'm sorry, am I missing something here?"

"It never went to trial; you know the studio took care of everything."

"The studio?"

"Yes, they couldn't afford to lose their leading star; it is believed they framed another man."

"Who was the other man?"

"His name was Ledford, I believe a Hartman Ledford. But you know it has been so long ago. It was a very famous murder. The stories ran in all the papers."

"What happened to Mr. Ledford?"

"He was convicted of the crime."

"Did he go to prison?"

"Yes, he did, he got life!" But you can go to the local library; they must keep records or the newspaper office. If you want I will take you there, just pick a day and I'll help you find the story."

"Thank you, Oliver; we will have to do that."

"Why do you ask about the house?"

"Why do people say it is haunted?" Alejandro found himself answering Oliver with another question. Oliver didn't seem to mind…he answered.

"After Mrs. Owen died, Mr. Owen stayed on for many years. But then he moved from the house. The studio tried to rent it out. But no one ever stayed for long. They all claimed they saw a ghost."

"Ghost?"

"Yes, they all claimed to have seen Olivia."

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"Olivia?"

"Yes, Olivia Owen, she was a beautiful young woman. I saw many of her films, maybe all of them. She was one of the rising stars when she married

Brett Owen."

"Oliver."

"Yes sir."

"Do you remember what she looked like, what color hair she had?"

"Yes, of course. It was a pale blonde, almost platinum, and she had the most beautiful blue eyes. There should be a picture of her somewhere in the house. If not, we can certainly find one in the newspaper office."

"I'm going to take you up on that offer, Oliver. I have a free day tomorrow, would you mind?"

"No, not at all, that's what I'm here for, always at your disposal."

Alejandro watched as Ricardo Montoya moved around in the arena. He was stiff, unmoving. Alejandro wondered how in the world he would ever train this man to be a Matador. Montoya was handsome, but that is where his appeal ended. There was something about him. Alejandro couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Montoya was not star quality. This would be harder than what he had been led to believe. This might take more than a few days, this would take weeks.

The only redeeming benefit, as he saw it, was the fact that Madeline was there on the set. That in itself was strange. Why was she there? Did Montoya go anywhere without her? He deemed that he would never let her out of his sight either, if she belonged to him. No, he didn't think Montoya wanted her very far from him…ever!

Alejandro looked to her. She was dressed in beige slacks and a white cashmere sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a soft pony tail. Her eyes wore crystal sunglasses. He wished he could see her eyes, but they lay hidden there beneath the lenses. She did look up and she smiled at him, he responded and smiled back. He then looked to Montoya.

The studio had recreated what they considered to be one of the greatest arenas in the world. Alejandro remembered with precise detail the original; this did not even come close. But the audience would probably never know the difference. With all the money Sheridan had, he wondered why the studio hadn't opted for the real thing. Then he realized that meant taking the entire company to Spain. He was sure he heard someone say Montoya thought that was the original plan. That is one of the reasons Montoya consented to do this movie, he was under the impression they would be filming in Spain.

Alejandro remembered his days in Spain. They had been glorious days of youth. He loved the country; it was his mother's birthplace. That is where she had taken him. That is where they had escaped to after his father's death. He would like to one day return to the land where he had grown up. His daydreaming had taken him away, but now it was time for him to turn his attention to that which he had been brought here to do.

He walked into the arena. He walked toward Montoya. He concentrated on his gait, one step followed another. Suddenly a man ran toward him, his mind was averted, but only for a second. The man presented him with the cape, he kept his eyes focused. It was only a red cape, he could handle this. The cape suddenly felt good in his hands, it had been a long time. He touched the satin. He remembered that glorious feel at the touch of his fingers. He started twirling the material, it came so naturally. He didn't realize at first exactly what he was doing. But soon everyone in the company followed his motions, looked at the great Matador before them. He was stunning. The cape moved gracefully with each and every turn of his hand.

He was deep into the dream; he was back in Spain, his first fight, the glorious fight. He felt his feet move, placed perfectly, dancing to his handwork. The cape soared and so did his heart. He was so caught up in the dream that he didn't realize anyone was watching. The beauty of his actions, the graceful art in which he moved and then he looked up to his audience. But it was only Madeline that he saw. She was watching him, watching each and every move that he made. She had removed her glasses and was deep into his dream when he realized what he was doing. Everyone stopped and applauded the Matador. It wasn't applause for Montoya, no; he just stood there, seething at Alejandro's performance, knowing deep in his heart that he could never come close to Don Alejandro Vivanco.

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The three of them ate together in the commissary. Montoya purposely made Madeline sit by Alejandro. Ricardo seemed to be thinking of something else. He couldn't even keep up with pleasant conversation. He didn't look at his wife nor did he speak to her. It was Alejandro who tried to make her feel welcome. It was Alejandro who touched her hand, felt the softness when he offered her more coffee. He felt the spark of her warmth. He wondered if she felt the same. She smiled at him again. He wondered if he could live the rest of his life without tasting of her. He looked at her mouth, it was so desirable. He wondered what she would taste like, how she moved in bed. Did she realize he was lusting after her? She just kept smiling.

Montoya excused himself before they had finished their lunch. He left without saying anything to Madeline. He did not show up for rehearsal after lunch. He didn't show up to escort her home. And so Alejandro did the gentlemanly thing. He offered her a ride in the limo with Oliver. She didn't hesitate. She looked around for a moment and then got into the limousine.

They sat in silence for awhile. But then he knew that he needed to speak to her. He needed to know something about her.

"Have you always lived here?" He thought about his words, is that what he really wanted to say? No! He wanted to say, let me touch you, let me love you. But the words had been spoken. She looked at him, listened to him speak, his accent was beautiful and she responded.

"Yes, I was born here in Los Angeles; I've lived here all my life." He thought about her words, all her life, wondering how long that life had been.

"Oh, that's nice. Then you must show me around sometime."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea." She had spoken and he followed her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it was just an idea."

"Mr. Vivanco…" She looked directly at him, studying him.

"Please, call me Alex."

"Alex, I think you and I both know that as much as I would love to show you around, it could never be."

"I just thought…"

"I know what you thought." Her mouth curved into a delicate smile.

"It's that obvious?"

"It's that obvious, yes!"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not…" and then she touched his leg. Her hand caressed his thigh and then moved higher. He caught his breath. She didn't move her hand; just let it rest there on his leg. He didn't move, he didn't speak. He turned his head forward and lingered on the pleasure of her touch.

The next thing he knew the limo had stopped. The home was beautiful, a Spanish villa under the warm Los Angeles sky. The greenery surrounding it reminded him of the hacienda. Red ripe blooms of hibiscus were planted pleasantly around the courtyard. Ricardo Montoya had a little piece of Spain at his fingertips. Alejandro envied him. Montoya was famous, handsome, and very wealthy, and had one of the most beautiful women in the world, everything Alejandro had enjoyed at one time. He thought of just how fast that, so called, everything had ended.

Oliver got out and came around to Madeline's door. Alejandro touched at his leg remembering that everything. Then he looked at Madeline whose hand lay close by his, and then he covered her hand with his.

"Alex, I am going to do something I think I will regret for the rest of my life."

"And what might that be?"

"I'm going to ask you to come in."

For a moment he couldn't believe he had heard her correctly. He studied her face, her eyes. Her eyes never lost contact with his. He smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Madeline stepped out and Alejandro followed her. "I guess I'm staying." He spoke the words to Oliver.

"Do you wish me to wait?"

Alejandro turned to Madeline, she shook her head…no!

"Call me if you need me." Oliver looked at him, then at Madeline. He then got back in the car, and slowly drove away.

Madeline took his hand and led him up the walk, through the arched doorways and into the house. The foyer was tiled in red brick pavers. The luscious fountain flowed in the center of the open room. He caught the golden rays of sunlight as they filtered down through the domed skylight. He heard the flapping of wings and his eyes rose. A large aviary loomed high above them filled with all the magnificent colors…reds, oranges, chartreuses, aquas, purples, every color imaginable in the bird species. And then he noticed the large green parrot perched nearby. The parrot gazed at him as he walked by… "Give me a kiss…give me a kiss…give me a kiss, pretty boy…"

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Alejandro wanted to reply but Madeline laughed and pulled him forward. "The bird is Ricardo's, a gift from one of his admirers." Alejandro held her hand and followed. The pavers ran the length of the massive hallway toward the great room. He looked in for a second but only a second. She led him up the magnificent staircase and down the hall into the master suite. The room was a pure white pallet, from the carpet to the walls, to the looming bed, as white as Madeline's alabaster skin. They were standing there breast to breast. "Who are you?" Her voice wavered.

"Who do you want me to be?"

"I want you to be the man I've loved all of my life." She leaned into him, her lips sought his and she touched him. His mouth opened and his tongue found its way into her soft pallet. She tasted wonderful. He touched her breasts; he touched the cashmere, pulling at it until he had released her from its softness. She wore a soft ivory camisole underneath. Her breasts heaved beneath the silk. He carefully guided it over her head. He looked upon her. Of all the women he had bedded, she was the most beautiful. Her breasts were larger than what he had imagined. They were the whitest he had ever seen and tipped by a soft color of pink. He molded them for a moment then tasted of them. He was lost in that moment, and then he guided her hand.

"Touch me." His voice was soft. She waited for a moment until he placed her hand…"touch me…please?" She hesitated and then fumbled with his trousers. He kept his eyes locked into her gaze. Her eyes were the deepest blue he had ever seen. When she had released his zipper, she stopped. Her eyes looked frightened. "Don't stop now," he pleaded. His hand took her small hand, guided and entered inside, until she had touched his throbbing. She shook for a moment, not knowing what to do. "Here, let me show you." He was taken by her innocence. What kind of lover was Montoya? His thoughts of the movie star struck him as odd. Had he never pleasured his wife or himself with her soft touch?

He wrapped her delicate hand around him, a soft rhythm he loved. She looked at him, he was afraid for a moment; he didn't want her to stop. He didn't want to lose her now. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down on the satin and then he removed his shirt. He leaned down until he met her body with his. He wrestled with his trousers and shorts, kicking them away until he had freed himself. He leaned down and kissed her lips, slowly moving down to her breasts. She moaned and then he moved his hands down, catching the zipper of her slacks, working at them until he felt the silk underneath. Her hands flew to his hands, but he kept moving the material down, down until they were flesh to flesh.

Her flesh felt so soft and desirable. His mouth nuzzled her ear, her neck, her shoulders; he wanted his mouth to make love to every part of her. She relaxed at the tenderness of his lips. She closed her eyes with pleasure, and thought of just how long she had waited for him and this moment. She was completely lost in his love.

His hand fell to her upper thigh. The touch sparked reasoning in her brain, and for an instant she tried to move away. He wasn't sure what happened, but he knew he couldn't stop nor did he want to. She seemed to struggle for a moment. But his mouth was urging. Even if she had tried, she could not have stopped her total submission to this man of her dreams. She gasped, cried out, and he realized, but it was too late.

He had fallen asleep, something he usually didn't do with a lady. But this moment seemed so right. She lay there beautiful and content in his arms; she was so close he could feel her gentle breathing on his face. He studied her features, she looked so very lovely. He didn't want to disturb her, but his fingers touched her lips. He touched at her forehead gliding the hair back from her face.

Her body felt wonderful against him. She was so small, and frail. He realized she was very young. She dressed much differently than her age might suggest. Her wardrobe and actions would lead one to assess she was much older and wiser, much more mature. But she was not what he had assumed her to be. He realized she was still just a child. That bothered him. He wasn't used to "robbing the cradle," as some might call it. His women were just that, women! It was only her breasts that some might find deceiving, although their color was extremely innocent.

His fingers touched the softness. He circled his index finger around and around, stopping to feather the rise. He moved cautiously down until he tasted her essence. She turned onto her back, her eyes still closed in languished sleep. He studied her for what seemed like an eternity. The time was soft, pleasurable. He wished he could stay in that soft place forever, but…

But no matter what, he felt like a complete ass. He was mad at himself for forcing her, mad he had taken her, period. It was hard for him to believe she was still virginal. She had been married to Montoya for months. What in 32

the hell was going on here? When he realized what he had done, that he had certainly deflowered the innocent, he could only try to comfort her. He knew he had caused her pain, pain and discomfort. He tried to ease that pain, tried to ease her heart. He realized he could empathize with her because he too had been wounded. Not in the same way, but wounded just the same. Pain has a way of taming the most hardened soul. With his tender touch he had pleasured her until she was sated, until she could hardly breathe.

His left hand stayed on her breast as his right hand explored. Her stomach was flat, and he let his hand linger across it for a few moments. Then his hand touched her. She moaned and turned her head. Their lips met and her tongue responded. He stopped for a moment and looked at her.

"What about Ricardo?" He wondered why he even spoke that name. "He never sleeps here!"

Chapter 4

Alejandro had not wanted to leave…ever! But in the morning he had worried about her reputation. He had stolen out of bed, dressed and hurried to find a phone. He called Oliver. He hated to just walk out. What would she think? But then he knew someone might find out.

Elsa had met him at the door, her eyes studying him. "I was worried about you…when you didn't come home last night."

"I'm sorry if I caused you any distress."

"Are you hungry, have you had breakfast?"

"No."

"No, which?"

"No to both. I don't have time; I need to shower and dress. I have an early morning meeting."

"Will you be wanting lunch or dinner?"

"I'm not sure when I will be home; please don't wait up for me this evening. And tell the cook not to bother. I don't know when I will be back."

He didn't wait for her response, he walked to the stairs. He didn't think about his leg, he didn't think about anything but the softness he had just left. He knew he would have to stop and call her later, much later when he had come to his senses.

The headline loomed in front of him, he was sitting in the morgue of the city newspaper, the one Wilkerson owned. He had sent Oliver to find some hot coffee and doughnuts. He needed something; he had not eaten since the previous afternoon in the commissary. His night with Madeline had not prompted his desire for anything other than her. His stomach groaned from lack of food.

But his eyes lit up when he found the article.

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"Olivia Owen, found murdered in her home, husband taken into custody!" He looked at the headlines. The date on the paper was listed as January 1, 1923…New Year's Day. And then his eyes fell to the picture below. It was a large black and white photo. They had printed one of her official studio photographs.

Alejandro looked at the picture, he felt his heart drop, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. Olivia was breathtaking, a close-up shot of one of the leading stars of the day. Her hair was curly, blonde, cascading over one side of her face. He thought of Veronica Lake. But Olivia was much more seductive.

"Here's your coffee and doughnuts." Oliver was back with their breakfast. "Thank you," he answered and reached for the coffee as Oliver placed the sack of goodies down on the table. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Alejandro looked up at him. "Is this how you remember her?" He held the paper up, looking for the man to respond.

Oliver studied the picture and the printing above. "Yes, beautiful! The last movie she starred in, well, I must have seen it twenty times, Moon over Miami. Damn, but she stirred me, if you know what I mean?"

"I didn't realize she was killed on New Year's Eve, or sometime in the wee hours of the New Year."

"Yes, New Year's Day." Oliver opened his coffee and sat down beside Alejandro. He sipped for a moment and watched Alejandro search the article.

"It says they attended a big party that night, at none other than Leonard Goldstein's estate. Owen claimed that he was drunk, doesn't remember anything. Their driver brought them home, no, the Goldstein's chauffeur brought them home; Owen was too inebriated to drive. He states he can't even remember walking into the house, he passed out downstairs. The maid is the one who found her body the next day in a small room off of her closet." Alejandro stopped for a moment. He had a hard time continuing. He knew that room. He knew it well. He sat there for a moment trying to concentrate on the article. He felt his heart pounding, felt the memory flooding in, he felt the shock, his body shuddered.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, just a blast of cold air through my heart."

"A disturbing thought, I presume?"

"Yes, I guess you could call it that." Alejandro recalled that disturbing thought. He remembered his fear in the room that night. He had felt the unusual presence of someone or something. He didn't think he believed in ghosts. He had never even thought about the supernatural. But now he wasn't so sure. There was definitely something there that night, and he knew it was something intangible. That only left one conclusion. Not a thought he liked to dwell on. He looked back to the lines written in the article. He looked at the name of the reporter, Stephanie Parkins. There was even a small picture of the writer pictured below.

"Have you ever heard of this woman?"

"Who, sir?"

"Please, call me Alex."

"I don't think I can, sir."

"Please, Oliver."

"Don't let Mr. Goldstein know, I could lose my job."

"I'll never tell. I feel we are friends."

"All right, Alex, what woman?"

"Stephanie Parkins."

"Oh my, yes! She ran one of the hottest gossip columns in Hollywood.

Mr. Zachary made her one of his top reporters in the early twenties."

"Mr. Zachary?"

"Yes, he was the editor of the newspaper. No one really ever assumed she had much writing talent. Her tidbits were very scathing at the time. I used to love to read her column. She dug up the dirt on every star in the business, sometimes true, most often not."

"No one ever sued the paper for the falsehoods?"

"No, she seemed to be well protected. The story is that someone watched over her and her column. Come to think about it, I remember something about some kind of scandal she was linked with."

"What happened to her?"

"She met with an accident a few years back."

"What kind of an accident?"

"Her car went out of control on Mulholland Drive. She was DOA at the scene. It was suggested that she was drunk at the time, although she supposedly had liver problems and her brother said she never drank."

"How do you remember that?"

"It was in all the papers, her paper carried the story for days; it should be in the literary morgue someplace. Do you want me to look for it while you concentrate on Olivia?"

"Thank you, I would like to read what they had to say about her accident."

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They spent the next few hours researching every local and nationwide circulation. Alejandro found that Owen had been arrested but maintained his innocence. He also stressed he could never have killed his wife, he loved her. He had never ever laid a finger on her, much less wrapped his hands around her neck to strangle the life out of her. The papers said the autopsy proved she had been violated, raped and then strangled.

Alejandro's thoughts brought him back to the previous day. He thought of the headlines. Those headlines could possibly be written about him. He had forcefully taken a young woman, although, at the time he didn't realize her innocence. He thought, no, he hadn't thought, he assumed. Well, he presumed her to be knowledgeable in the bedroom. But she had never delved into any carnal acts until yesterday. He had taken her and her virtue. And now he would have a hard time looking at her again.

Why had their marriage never been consummated? He hadn't had the time or the inclination to question her at that particular moment. He had other thoughts on his mind. Those thoughts had captured every part of his body. He had been mesmerized by her.

The whole situation seemed ludicrous. Montoya was wanted, desired by every female in the world. His movies were successful, more than successful; he had made the Sheridan Company a small fortune. He assumed Ricardo had been like he, bedding women for years, seeking out the comfort and company of many. Why hadn't he bothered to seek the comfort of his wife? None of this made sense. He needed time to think, but for now he needed to research Olivia Owen.

He found that Goldstein and the studio had backed Owen. They had bailed him out of jail, paid for the best defense attorney and made sure his story was spread across their own newspaper. Yes, Leonard Goldstein had one newspaper wrapped around his finger, at least one very prominent person in the paper. Strange, Stephanie Parkins' name appeared as the lead reporter in each and every story.

He also found Hartman Ledford in the old papers. He was a gardener, worked for the Owens. He insisted he was innocent. But the police had been furnished with some unusual incriminating evidence. He had been convicted, sent to prison for life. That was 17 years ago. Alejandro assumed he was still there.

"Here, I think you might be interested in this." Oliver presented him with the paper; the large photo almost filled the entire page. The luxurious old Hudson sat at the bottom of the steep incline. The front grill was smashed and the window cracked. The passenger door was open and a body lay nearby. A man, presumably an officer of the law, was trying to block a news photographer from snapping pictures. Another photographer must have been at the scene, why else the photo? Above, on Mulholland Drive, the guard rail was broken in two, a part lay hanging over the cliff.

Oliver handed him another print. This paper provided another photo but the body had been moved, not much, but enough to strike a difference to someone interested. The body was now draped in a white cloth. Two men stood close to the body, neither, the man in the first photo. He assumed they were also plain clothes police officers, he wondered where the regular officers were, the ones in uniform.

He studied the pictures for a few minutes, thought something odd about them, but then concentrated on the stories that accompanied the photos. Another smaller picture was printed at the bottom of the article in the second paper; it was the picture of the reporter that ran the daily gossip column, the dead woman, Stephanie Parkins. He looked at the woman, she looked slightly overweight and homely, definitely not the type of person to invade the strictest privacy of the stars. An hour later he put all the papers down.

"Oliver, I'm hungry, do you think you can find me some tacos?"

"I know the best Mexican restaurant in Los Angeles."

"Good, I'm famished."

"Do you need to report to the studio anytime soon?"

"No, this is my free day."

"Good, this is something you will not want to rush."

"That good, huh?"

"Exceptional, I know the owner, Rafael Rodriquez."

True to his word, Oliver delivered him to Casa Grande. They were seated in the back of the restaurant overlooking the massive patio. Mr. Rodriquez had welcomed them, hugging Oliver as he did so. He greeted Alejandro with a "buenos dias" and escorted them to the perfect table. He did not bother to give them a menu, he motioned to the waitress and she brought them the golden ale. It was cool, one of the best beers Alejandro had ever tasted.

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When the platter was delivered they had already downed two beers. The platter was a feast of Mexican cuisine, a mixture of tacos, enchiladas', tostados, chile rellenos, chorizo, black beans and rice. Alejandro and Oliver did not exchange many words for the next hour. The beer kept coming and the food was devoured.

"Come back any time." Rafael again embraced Oliver and shook Alejandro's hand. He had not even let them pay for their meal. Alejandro had his wallet out and ready to pay but Rafael chastised him…"no, no mi amigo." "I don't understand." Alex looked to Oliver.

Oliver smiled for a moment. "We're family; he's married to my sister!" "I owe you one." Alex smiled.

"We'll discuss that later."

Once back in the limo, Oliver turned to Alex. "Is there someplace else you wish to go?"

"Yes, let's take a drive up to Mulholland Drive."

"Anything you say."

They hadn't gone far when Alex remembered; he saw the drug store on the corner, the payphone inside. "Stop the car, Oliver." Oliver looked to Alex and moved the car over to the side of the road. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just a call I have to make."

"Do you need some change?"

"Yes, I might at that."

Oliver got out of the car and dug into his pocket. He retrieved a handful of coins and came around to open Alejandro's door. Alex stepped out and Oliver placed the money in his hand…nickels and dimes. "That should be enough," Oliver commented. "You do know how to make a call, don't you?"

"Of course…" But then Alejandro thought about it. "Which coins do you use…all of them?"

"No." And then Oliver picked out the right amount. "This is a dime and these are two nickels, use either."

"Thank you, Oliver."

"You're welcome."

"You don't mind waiting, do you?"

"No, not at all."

"Good, I shouldn't be long." Alex walked back the half block to the store. He looked around at the people enjoying their lunch. The long bar ran the length of the store and was decked in black and white tiles, matching the larger ones on the floor. Most of the bright red stools were taken by customers. There were several booths in the back, also filled with happy people. The food must be good.

He walked to the corner of the store, near the front window. He entered the booth and closed the door behind him. The large book lay in front of him. He didn't waste any time. He remembered her number, it was written on the phone in the alcove in the hallway of the Montoya's home. He had used it to call Oliver.

He picked up the receiver, wondering for a moment exactly what he would say. He dropped in the coin, a dime, and waited for central to put the call through. He let it ring. A female voice answered, but not the voice he wanted. "Is Mrs. Montoya at home?"

"No sir, she isn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir, I mean, well she isn't taking any calls today."

"What do you mean?"

"She told me not to put any calls through to her."

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know, sir; she has not come out of her room the entire day."

"And what about Mr. Montoya?"

"He is away on business."

"On business?"

"Yes."

"Might I ask how often he goes away on business?"

There was no answer for a moment. "I'm not sure, sir."

"Might I ask a favor of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you please go knock on Mrs. Montoya's door? Tell her Mr. Vivanco is on the phone. And don't worry, I'll wait."

He waited for what seemed like an eternity. When she came back on he listened.

"I'm sorry, sir, she does not answer."

"And you knocked?"

"Yes, sir, and I called to her…she wouldn't answer."

"Has she ever done this before?"

"No, sir, she hasn't, I'm a little worried about her."

40

"Oliver, I've changed my mind, take me to the Montoya's house."

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm not sure, just drive, please."

Oliver saw the look on his face. He pulled away from the curb and turned the car around at the next block.

Chapter 5

He had knocked at the door, when he didn't get an answer he barged in. He didn't meet anyone in the foyer, he moved as fast as his leg would let him. He looked at the stairs. He would have to climb. He was tired; he had overeaten and drank far too much. His leg was dulled but the stairs were high. He had just reached the top when he saw her run out from the bedroom. She saw him and ran toward him; he saw the look of terror on her face. "She's dead!"

He didn't stop to inquire who. He knew exactly who she was talking about. He ran to her room. She was lying on the bed, her head hung over the side. A bottle of sleeping pills lay nearby. He went to her; she looked as white as any corpse. He felt for her pulse, he felt the faint throbbing. He picked her up in his arms and touched her face. He carried her to the bathroom and hung her head over the commode. He took his finger and probed deep in her mouth; he touched at her uvula and delved as far as he could go. He felt her retch, the spasms convulsing inside. He watched as the pills and water forced their way up and out of her body. She coughed and gagged and then went limp. He carried her back to the bed. The maid had entered the room.

"She'll be fine, go and get some brandy!" The girl looked at him and then to Madeline. "Please go," he urged. She turned and left. Alex went to the bathroom and got a fresh damp cloth. He was back, washing her face, her color was returning. Her breathing wasn't as labored. He sat down next to her and held her.

When the maid returned she carried the decanter in one hand and a crystal glass in the other. "Pour it, please." The girl did as she was told and handed the glass to Alex. He gently touched it to Madeline's lips, but she turned her head to fight the drink. "No, open your mouth! Take a sip!" Her lips parted for a moment. He poured the brandy into her mouth. She choked and the brandy came back up, she turned her head back and forth when he tried to make her drink.

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Alex looked to the maid. "You can go now, and you don't need to mention this to anyone, do you understand?" She nodded and started to leave. "Please shut the door," he requested. The girl looked at him. She didn't recognize him. But she did as he said. He had certainly come to the rescue. She had been ready to call the police when he arrived. She wasn't sure if she should still do so, but he had saved Mrs. Montoya's life. She shut the door behind her.

Alex looked at Madeline. She had been naked when he left her early in the morning. She had obviously risen, she now wore a soft white negligee, he thought of a wedding night. But he knew she had probably never ever worn the gown. It looked as new as the day she had bought it.

He sat with her the rest of the day. He didn't leave her side, not to talk with Oliver, not to do anything. She slept peacefully, and he was content to stay with her. He thought about their early morning hours. He should have known. It was a sin for any man to use a woman as he had done, and then to have walked out without saying anything.

He wondered about Montoya, where was he? Why didn't he ever sleep here? He knew they had an early morning call at the studio. He knew he would have to be there, but then again, he might have to cancel. He was tired. The beer had done its job, he needed sleep. He went to the door and locked it, making sure no one would disturb them. He stripped down and lay down on the bed beside her. He was asleep before he knew it, again, something he would never do. But his sleep was deep. When he awoke, she was gone. He looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was 6:00 a.m. He was late. He was supposed to be on the set by 6:30 a.m. He arose, went to the bathroom, washed up and put his clothes back on. The white negligee lay in a heap on the bathroom floor, near the shower. He picked it up and carried it to the bed. He realized her attempt at trying to wash herself clean.

He found Oliver asleep inside the limo. Oliver had waited for him, even if it meant pulling an all nighter. Alex opened the door and gently nudged him awake. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have waited." "I thought maybe it was an emergency."

"It was, but thanks for waiting."

"I knew you had an early morning call. Do you need to go home?" "No, just take me to the studio."

They arrived at 6:45 a.m. He was only fifteen minutes late. But he arrived before Montoya and that made him feel better. Montoya on the other hand arrived looking fresh. Alejandro Vivanco looked like he was nursing a hangover.

"Might I get you something, Mr. Vivanco?" It was the young assistant who had handed him the red cape at rehearsal. "Coffee, please, strong…black!"

"Yes, sir, coming right up."

He was back with the coffee, a very large cup…steaming.

"Thank you." Alex smiled as he spoke.

"You're welcome, can I get you anything else, we have bagels, cheese, anything, just say the word. Mr. Goldstein wants you well taken care of."

"Nothing, coffee is fine, just keep it coming."

"Yes, sir."

Alex sipped at the brew and looked over to Montoya. He was sitting there as regal as a prince. A small table sat before him. He was enjoying his breakfast. He didn't bother to look at Alex and Alex could have cared less about Montoya. There was only one reason he wanted to search his face. Where in the hell had he been for the past two days? And why didn't he ever come home to his wife? And then he wondered about Madeline, where could she have gone. He half expected her to be here on the set. He had found himself eager to get to the studio. He was saddened when he awoke and she had been gone. He could now relate to her feelings. He had been a complete ass.

Montoya didn't seem to care if Madeline was there or anywhere else. He had been so aloof from her. What in the hell was their story?

Alex looked around the set. It was going to be a long day, he realized that. He drank his coffee and concentrated on the man he would train.

Later in the day he found the soothing of the pool. Elsa had met him at the door. Her eyes avoided him. She looked peeved. He hadn't returned home the previous evening, and she seemed upset. He swam for the good part of an hour.

"Will you need anything else this evening?" Her tone was sharp.

"No," he responded.

"Mr. Goldstein's secretary called today, a reminder of the press party this evening."

"Oh, hell, I almost forgot."

"She mentioned it was nothing formal, it's at the Brown Derby." Her words were so matter of fact and Alex realized she was upset. She had expected to seduce him, or he her, it hadn't happened.

"Thank you, Elsa, for everything." He watched to see how she would react. She wanted everything, he had not delivered. "Good night, sir."

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"Good night." He went upstairs, showered and put on a pair of trousers, cable knit sweater and grabbed a jacket. As usual Oliver was waiting. He too had showered and changed.

"Oliver, if you are too tired, you can forego this evening. I can always take a cab."

"No, sir."

"Sir?"

"I mean Alex; I will see you safely to the Brown Derby and escort you home again this evening."

"Thank you, you know tomorrow is a free day, why don't you rest up?"

"You do remember you have an engagement tomorrow night?"

Alex thought for a moment. "Ah, yes, Mr. Goldstein's cocktail party, his home. He imagined this should be very interesting."

"You'll get to view the mansion for yourself, the same one Olivia and

Brett went to that night."

"And you will be with me."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Nor I."

Alex had heard about the restaurant designed like a bowler. It had seemed odd. He was shocked to see that it was just that, a man's derby hat. It was an iconic image and had become synonymous with the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Leonard Goldstein and Ricardo Montoya were seated in one of the booths. They were deep into conversation when Alex approached their table. Alex noticed the walls of the restaurant were covered in caricatures' of many famous stars. Neither man rose when Alex joined them.

"Oh, there you are. Please sit down. I have taken the liberty of ordering dinner for us. The Derby is famous for its Cobb Salad. I hope you don't mind." Goldstein looked to Alex for approval.

"That's fine." Alex had no idea what a Cobb Salad was. But he wasn't going to argue with the big boss.

"A few members of the press will be here in the next hour. I thought that would give us time to eat and talk a little about this interview. I know they will be anxious to ask you questions about your fighting, but please, remember this interview is geared for Mr. Montoya, limit your answers to the specifics, do not elaborate on your victories. Is that understood?"

Alex wanted to punch the man in the face. But instead he smiled. "Of course, anything you say." Mr. Goldstein looked at Alex, felt his wrath. He wasn't sure why Sam Brockman had requested Vivanco in the first place. Sam was the director and had watched Alejandro fight "once upon a time." But Goldstein figured Montoya should be able to handle the part on his own. His was a Spaniard, by God. But then Leo thought about it. He looked from one Spaniard to the next. Were they so different? They both spoke with a sensual Spanish accent, an accent the women of the world adored.

Ricardo Montoya was probably one of the most handsome leading men in Hollywood. Alejandro Vivanco had been a leading man in the bullring. But he had lost it. Could he really add to Montoya's acting ability? Goldstein looked at Alejandro; he deemed that most women might be turned on by him. It was an interesting thought at that.

They dined on the Cobb Salad. "They invented this from leftovers to impress Sid Grauman, although I don't understand it. But it has been world famous ever since." Goldstein looked content; he had offered that bit of history.

In the end, Alejandro had delivered his lines to the press in the manner in which Goldstein had advised him. Alex thought he saw the pleasure peek across Leo's face when he answered each and every question as Leo had directed. Montoya on the other hand had a difficult time responding to any questions. His mind was definitely not in tune with the press. Goldstein looked from one Matador to the other. He contemplated thoughts he had never even dreamt about.

Alejandro entered the house and walked up the stairs. He passed the green room. He wanted to open it, to see for himself that the room was not haunted. But he couldn't quite get up the nerve to do so. He walked to his own room. Again, he turned the lock, checking and rechecking to make sure it stayed locked.

He was lying on his back thinking about the last day's events. His thoughts inevitably crept to Madeline. Where was she? Better still, what was she doing? He wanted to stop by her home and see how she was faring, but he knew that Oliver was tired. He wondered if Montoya would even bother to go home. He then thought of Madeline's words…"he never sleeps here." Just where did he sleep and with whom?

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He was tired and knew that he would sleep in. He wanted to catch up on some much needed rest. But he was still curious about Madeline. He thought about her until the wee hours of the morning. He guessed he wasn't quite as tired as he thought because just the thought of her piqued his arousal.

Chapter 6

Carmen Della Cruz had returned to the land of her birth. She took her young son away from the hacienda and the paparazzi within the week of Don Juan Della Cruz' death. She had closed out the bank account quietly. She told Rosa to sell the furnishings and keep whatever profit. It had been a sad and difficult week for the two women.

The funeral had been exalted. The masses of fans, friends, and reporters had filled the holy cathedral. It was a Requiem Mass for the late great Matador. The elaborate golden coffin had been placed close to the altar where the "holy father" performed the last rights.

Carmen had held Alejandro's hand, not daring to let him move away from her side. She watched the people who stopped to stare at the young boy. The newspapers ran the articles daily. They pictured the boy waving the bright red handkerchief. The stories about how a young boy killed his father. They sickened her. She had packed without anyone knowing, only Rosa. Rosa had cried but she understood. They were sailing across the ocean before the reporters got wind of their disappearance.

Carmen knew exactly where she would go, where she would take her son. They were there on her father's land before the end of the month. Vega Cortez was happy to welcome his daughter home. It had been many years since she and the Matador had visited. The Matador had fought here in Spain. That is how he met Carmen. She was young, very young, not more than 15 when Della Cruz spotted her in the arena. It didn't take him long to find out who she was and to lure her away from her father's villa. Vega had never really forgiven the Matador for taking her away. After Alejandro's birth they had come back one time. Vega remembered the little boy.

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Vega loved Alejandro. He had never had a son, only Carmen and her sister Carolina. Carolina had never married. She had stayed with her father, taking care of the old man. She wasn't sure she was happy her sister had returned, it just meant more work for her as she saw it. Carmen could tell her sister was not pleased. She tried to make herself and her young son less bothersome. She arose early in the morning, cleaned and cooked before Carolina awoke. You would think this would ease Carolina's mind, but it only made her jealous. Vega watched as his two daughters disagreed, he knew the brunt of the hostility lay with Carolina. But he also knew that one day Carmen would leave again and he would be alone. He needed Carolina.

Alejandro took his resentment out on the young goat in the neighboring pasture. He played his game with the animal. He was the Matador, the goat… El Toro! Vega warned him time after time that Don Diego would get mad, but of course, Alejandro didn't listen to him. He had never seen the Don, he didn't care. But one day his actions led him to the swift retribution of Diego. He was wrapped up in fighting the little goat. He was oblivious to anyone or anything. He was reenacting the famous fight. He was his father, the little goat…El Toro. He wanted to kill the little goat and he was fast at work when he felt the sting of the whip on his back. He stopped short and turned around.

"What are you doing?" The man loomed over him, the man seethed and his eyes flashed.

"I want to kill him!" Alejandro lost it. He started kicking, yelling, and pounding on the goat. The whip caught him again. Alejandro did not flinch. He caught the end of the whip and yanked it hard. He almost tore it from the man's grip. The large man caught Alejandro by the back of the neck. He pulled him fighting and screaming through the yard to another part of his great ranch. Then he threw the young boy into an enclosed pasture and watched. Alejandro fell to the ground by the force in which he was thrown. He got up screaming and looked around at Diego. He was still screaming when he saw something out of the corner of his eye…El Toro! And the bull was charging at Alejandro. Alejandro didn't wait, he didn't waste a second, he ran to the fence and climbed over just as the bull came crashing into the planks. Alejandro heard the sounds of the cracking wood; he turned to see the bull stunned, but stopped!

"What the heck, you tried to kill me!"

"You wanted to fight the bull, I gave you the chance, now leave my goat alone! Comprende?"

"Estupido."

"What did you say?"

Now, Alejandro had been without the guidance of his father for almost a year. His grandfather was too old to correct him and Carmen was too afraid to do anything. He was completely out of hand and she realized it. Alejandro didn't have to answer to anyone or anybody, not even Don Diego. He raised his head in defiance to the man…"Estupido!" Diego had never let his sons talk to him in that manner, and he sure wasn't going to let this "loco nino" get away with it. He grabbed the boy and walked to the fence, put his leg up on the plank and turned Alejandro into a man that day.

Carmen could never understand the change in her son from that day forward, but she was happy with the results. He never caused her another problem. He would leave early in the morning and come back late in the evening. She wondered about his strange behavior but he was calm and happy. She gave thanks to the Blessed Virgin every evening in prayer.

During the following year Carmen met the Don and they encountered a warm romance. Alejandro was pleased, he loved the Don. Carmen and the Don married. Carmen left her father and sister, and moved to Diego's home, Don Diego Vivanco. Carmen took his name and so did Alejandro. Diego loved Alejandro. He saw what others might have overlooked. He brought his friend to visit with Alejandro. His friend was one of the oldest living bullfighters in the world, Gilberto Guerra, and so Gilberto had trained the young boy, trained him to be the best.

Alejandro had fought his first fight and he had won. He felt the thrill of kill. He felt the intense beating of his heart. He continued to win and his fame spread throughout Spain. He was happy, his mother was happy and the Don was happy. But then Don Diego suffered a heart attack and died. The property would go to Diego's sons. It was time; Alejandro had enough money to take his mother back home, back to his home. The hacienda was waiting…El Toro was waiting.

Chapter 7

He watched the lights from the drive. The circled driveway up the hill was at least a half mile long. It wound and curved up the steep incline. The lights ran the length of the hill, up to the mansion high above. Alejandro had beheld many exquisite things in his life but this had to top it all.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" Oliver smiled from the front seat.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"I know, that's the way I felt the first time."

"How many times have you been here?"

"Oh, I don't know, I used to drive for the old man, until he put me out to pasture, so to speak."

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted someone younger."

"How much younger?"

"Young enough to land a punch. You know…a bodyguard of sorts. I guess he realized I couldn't swing as hard as I used to."

"Is that what you used to do in your younger days?"

"Whatever I had to do."

"Goldstein needed a strong arm?"

"You've seen him, what do you think?"

"Even now?"

"More so now, he is ruthless."

"I don't know if I could work for him."

"You are working for him." Alejandro looked to Oliver…thought about his words.

"Yes, I guess I am," Alex answered.

"Don't worry; he hasn't got his claws into you yet."

"What do you mean?"

"He has to be in control."

"Control of what?"

"Everything and everyone, including those who don't work for him."

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"Is that how he became head of the studio?"

"Precisely, he would do anything he had to do in order to remain the sole heir to the kingdom."

"Even kill for it?" Alejandro's eyes lit up as he questioned Oliver.

"Even kill for it!"

"And has he?"

"That is something you will have to find out for yourself."

"What about you Oliver? Would you kill for him?"

"He doesn't pay me enough."

"How well does he pay you?"

"Not as well as before, but it is ample."

"And you just drive?"

"Anyone and anyplace I am directed."

"I guess I'm lucky, I'm only here for the moment."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Alejandro studied the man's eyes through the mirror. And then Oliver was there opening the door for him. They had arrived.

"I'll be with the rest of the chauffeurs."

"And where might that be?"

"We have a special room in the back, over the garage. They will let me know when you are ready to leave, but remember…look, but don't touch!"

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out, just remember my words."

Oliver left him with that and Alejandro seemed puzzled. The massive beveled glass doors stood open to the crowds of people wandering in and out. He followed several in front of him, and entered into the Goldstein world.

The marbled foyer led the crowd into the Grand Ballroom. The white marble continued throughout that great room. The ballroom was decorated in fuchsia tufted walls, matching bold bright colors of silks and satins billowed from the flowing arches of glass windows. The orchestra rose on a level high above the audience. It was elevated on enormous glass pillars, filled with fuchsia water and white gleaming lights, definitely not your typical orchestra pit. It could be raised and lowered by mechanical lifts. When lowered the columns of glass sunk beneath the white marble, leaving the orchestra still elevated several inches higher than the marble, but giving access on and off the rising. The musicians all wore white tuxedos with cummerbunds and bow ties of the matching fuchsia color. The maestro wore a sparkling suit of white lamé, the lapels studded in rhinestones.

Underneath the glass columns, a towering waterfall of iridescence flowed into a Mediterranean pool, tainted in the same water. A large white porcelain clamshell rose in the center of the waterfall, spreading open, displaying a beautiful mermaid sitting on a rock. One might have thought the mermaid too was a work of porcelain, but she moved, dove in the water and swam around in the pinkness, showing off her aquatic abilities. After a few minutes she climbed back up onto the rock and the shell closed. It reopened every hour on the half. Alejandro recognized the mermaid; she was a budding new star in the Sheridan water films. Her face was exquisite, bathed in glitter, her hair piled up on top of her head with jeweled shells. She also wore an authentic mermaid costume, only scales of shimmering green from her waist down. She must have been paid above and beyond for her bare breasted essence. He wasn't shocked; he had seen it all before.

The waiters and waitresses were many, dressed in their black and white formal attire, French maids and man servants, carrying their golden trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The feast was spread in another great room. This room was colored in black and white harlequin. The walls wore the sequined pattern of silk and the tables were adorned in white sequined cloths. The food was plenty, garlands of fruits and vegetables and meat trays to entice every pallet. Chefs stood at each banquet table, prepared to carve any of the racks of lamb, roasts of prime rib or pork and breasts of chicken, and all spread out for the elite of Hollywood fame. And then there were the beautiful life-size mermaids of ice flowing with champagne. Alejandro was impressed. He walked around studying the rooms, the people and the designs. He picked up a glass of champagne as the girl moved by him with the silver tray of flutes. He took a sip and looked around to see if he recognized anyone else.

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Everyone was dressed in their most exquisite gowns and designer tuxedos. The colors swept across the floor like a brilliant rainbow. He assumed every star had paid dearly for their most formal wear of the year. This was even better than the Academy Awards. He was glad he had opted for his white dinner jacket. He was moving toward one of the tables when a man turned around, he recognized him, the crooner! He looked just like his pictures. Alejandro also recognized the woman with him but not from her photos. He remembered her. How could he ever forget? She had been on location in Spain, without her husband. She had been with one of the famed matadors. He remembered the local gossip about her, a different matador every night. Strange, he thought, because her husband had been rumored to have been exceptionally endowed. But there she was, every evening, in between the sheets with the young fighters. She had chosen one in particular, she had bedded him on numerous occasions and he seemed to satisfy her.

One night, in one of the cantinas, she had noticed Alejandro. He knew her reputation. But if that is what she wanted, to see how many toreadors she could claim in her lifetime, it was fine by him. He must have satisfied her, she commented about their similarities, he and her husband. He knew exactly what she was referring to, although she alluded to the fact that he, El Matador, was better hung. She had made herself available to him every night thereafter. If there was one woman in the entire world Alejandro considered to be a nymphomaniac, it would be her! He realized that no man could possibly ever satisfy her. He had also heard the rumors that whenever she felt despondent, she flew to Spain to take care of that malady. Her trips were frequent.

Alejandro looked to her eyes, she recognized him and smiled. She held the toothpick with the olive to her lips, tracing her tongue along its edge. He remembered her tongue, her actions, he remembered being that olive. Her husband looked to her for a moment, but she never took her eyes off of Alejandro. She was purposely baiting her husband. Alejandro turned away. He felt sorry for the man, but then again he realized that her husband had never been monogamous either. He had left his wife and children after twenty years of marriage to wed the Contessa.

He decided to go back into the ballroom. He had to pass the staircase in doing so. It was clothed in white lacquer and crystal balusters, the balusters wound up almost two stories high and glowed with soft lighting. The inside wall was a shower of falling white crystal lights. He had the overwhelming instinct to climb and he did. His feet touched each step of glass, radiating with lights from beneath. It almost took his breath away. And his eyes rose up and up as far as he could see and there she was, Goldstein on her right, Montoya on her left. He stopped for a second. He wanted to climb, but saw the look on her face when she looked down at him. He knew he should descend but…

"Ah, there you are, Matador." It was Goldstein acknowledging him. He had no choice. He waited till they made their descent. He was startled at the ingratiating expression on Goldstein's face. When had the man ever really been pleased to see him? Alejandro felt like turning around to look at whom Goldstein was really speaking to. But he knew it was him. Goldstein did not take his eyes off Alejandro. Alex did not want to break eye contact, even though his eyes were hurting to look at Madeline.

She looked enchanting. She was sheathed in an aqua silk beaded gown. It was strapless and her breasts peaked beneath the soft material. Her hair was swept up on one side graced by an aqua sequined rose. Goldstein held tightly to her hand. He then extended his right hand to Alex. This was quite unbelievable; the man had never greeted him with a handshake before. But Alex realized his left hand stayed locked onto Madeline.

"I'm glad you could join us." He released Alex' hand. "Did you find everything you needed, wanted?" No, he had not found what he needed, wanted, not until now, but she was attached to the boss. "Yes, thank you," he responded, and brought the champagne to his lips.

"I'm sorry; I really need to use the powder room." She broke her hand free as she spoke and started to climb back up. Goldstein looked shocked for a second, Montoya's gaze focused on something down the stairs. Alex wanted to look but was afraid to lose sight of Madeline. He watched her climb to the top and turn to the left. He knew where he had to go. "I've also had the urge for the last few minutes, do you mind?" Alex questioned.

"No, up the stairs, the men's lavatory is on the right, women's to the left, don't forget." Goldstein's eyes held a sparkle of humor.

"I won't," Alex replied and then he started his climb. Half way up the steps he looked down to see if Goldstein was watching. He wasn't. The boss was standing next to Montoya and another pretty boy actor, what was his name? Alex watched them for a moment and then turned and climbed to the first landing. He looked to his left. The hallway was wide and empty. There were only two doors on this side of the landing. One door was larger; he touched at the door, it opened…easily. He looked in and found it was a lavish, formal master suite. It was too feminine to be Goldstein's; he assumed it was probably used for his lady guests. He looked above the bed; a large portrait in oils loomed there on the wall. He recognized her in an instant, Olivia Owen. She was sheathed in a flowing piece of white; the material covered only the bare essentials. It was one of the most beguiling nudes he had ever seen. Alex wondered what her husband had thought of the picture, and the man who proudly displayed it. Brett Owen was dead, but he must have seen this at one time.

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Alex lingered on that thought as he shut the door behind him, and crossed the hall to the other door. He opened it and she was sitting there at the long table of lights, her back to him and she was bent over. The room was great, open and filled with white chaise lounges and chairs. He didn't see anyone but her. He walked up behind her. She felt him and looked up into the mirror. Her eyes were red, she had been crying. Her eyes made contact with his and she froze.

"Madeline…" He sat the champagne glass down on the table.

"Go away."

He touched her shoulder, felt the torch burn his heart. "Madeline…"

"I told you; go away, someone will see you."

"I don't care."

"If you won't leave, I will!" She rose and started to leave. He caught her by the arm. "Don't, you're hurting me," she exclaimed as she turned away from him.

"I'm not…I wouldn't." He tugged gently on her arm and swung her around into his body. She brought her other arm up to his chest. "Stop it, please," she whispered. He pulled her in tighter and caught her head with his free arm. He looked into her eyes, she twisted her head to avoid him, and he brought his other hand up to hold her in place. He leaned down in the midst of her fighting him and touched her lips. He sunk his tongue deep inside and then he felt the pain. She bit his lip so hard she drew blood. He whelped but held her tight. The door opened behind them. He released her and she ran. He wasn't sure who he expected to see at the door, but it was only a maid. She looked at him peculiarly; he wiped at the blood on his lips, and walked past her and out the door.

Madeline was half way down the stairs; he knew he could not keep up with her. He walked slowly down the lighted staircase, looking at Montoya, then Goldstein and the other actor. They hadn't budged from their spot. Madeline did not go near them. Goldstein saw her coming, broke out in a smile and then relinquished that smile when she ran the other way. Alex saw the look on Goldstein's face. And then Goldstein looked up the stairs to the Matador.

"Don't you want to go home?"

"No, take me for a ride, Sunset Boulevard. I hear it's the place to be." He had not bothered to stick around any longer. He had summoned Oliver, Madeline was gone and he felt sick. He touched at his swollen lip…

"Sunset it is." Oliver answered him.

"Oliver."

"Yes."

"What is it I don't like about Goldstein?"

"I would imagine everything."

"That's what I thought." "You thought well."

"I can't stand that man." "You and everyone else."

"Oliver."

"Yes."

"What can you tell me about the Montoyas?"

"Would that be Mr. Montoya or Mrs. Montoya?"

"Both."

"Which would you like me to start with?"

"Ricardo."

"Ah, yes, Ricardo. Exactly what would you like to know?"

"What gives, he has a beautiful wife, but, well you know…"

"Know what, Alex?"

"He doesn't seem to care about her."

"Ah, I see, you want to know why any man in his right mind would not stay in the bounds of matrimony with her?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Then you haven't heard the rumors about Montoya?"

"What rumors?"

"How do I put this delicately…"

"How delicate do you want to put it?"

"As delicately as it comes, do you understand?"

Alex thought for a moment. He had never thought about Montoya that way. He realized just how delicate Ricardo was. His eyes sparked with that knowledge. "But why in the hell did he marry Madeline?"

"It was under orders."

"Orders from whom?"

"Who do you think?"

"Goldstein?"

"Now, do you understand why Mr. Goldstein needs a bodyguard?"

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"I just don't get it, why would Madeline ever consent to this kind of marriage?"

"You will have to ask her that question."

"Well, I guess that covers both Montoyas, doesn't it?"

"I guess you could say so."

"Turn the car around Oliver."

"What, you don't want to see Sunset Boulevard?"

"No!"

"Where is it you want to go?"

"Take me to the Montoya's house."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

"You don't want to think this over?"

"No!"

Oliver then turned the car in the other direction.

Chapter 8

He walked into the darkness. He stumbled over something and landed near the fountain on his bum leg. The soft glow of lights bubbled in the water, just enough light to see across the pool. She lay there on the ground. She didn't move. "Madeline…" His voice froze. Then he felt the stabbing pains shoot through his leg. He got up slowly, and went around the stone wall to where she lay. He touched her head, she was out cold. He touched at her hand, it was wet and sticky. He then lifted her hand into the light, it was red, bright red. He remembered that color. Her hands were covered in blood. He lifted her up off the ground, he wasn't sure why, but he knew not to enter the house. His steps led him back the way he had come. He was careful this time to avoid the mass that lay on the ground. He realized what it was. He stepped around it and took Madeline to the car. Oliver saw him coming and came to his aid.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, let's get her into the car." Oliver opened the door for him and Alex laid her down on the seat. The light came on and Oliver saw the

blood. His eyes wide with fear. "Is she bleeding?"

"I don't think so but her hands are covered in it."

"Should we take her to a hospital?"

"No, not yet, I have to do something, stay with her, I'll be right back."

Alex had a hard time walking, but he went back near the fountain, back to the mass on the ground. He started to bend down, his leg stopped him. He bent on the other knee. He touched at the man lying face down. He knew he was dead, he didn't have to look, but he needed to. He turned the body over; the white lapels were drenched in the red substance. The dagger protruded from the man's chest. For a moment Alex looked shocked, but not from the blood or the wound. The look of bewilderment was that it was not the man he thought it to be. And then for a brief second he heard the words of the parrot…"Pretty boy, pretty boy!"

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"Where shall we take her?"

"I would say my house, but I don't think that would work." He thought about Elsa.

"No, Goldstein would not like that."

"Goldstein?"

"Think about it, Alex!"

"I am. Where would you suggest?"

"I think I know a place."

"Wherever you think is best." "She's not injured, is she?"

"No, the blood was not hers."

"Do you mind me asking whose blood it is?"

"I don't know his name."

"Not Ricardo?"

"No."

"Where are we?" Alex had looked up to see that they were far from the city. He had been deep in thought…deep into Madeline.

"San Bernardino! We should be there soon."

"Where is there?"

"Don't worry, it's safe."

Alex looked back down to Madeline. She had not moved. His hand moved to her breast, she was still breathing. He was in pain, he was tired and then his eyes closed.

The ranch style home was situated off the main road. The trees lined the drive up to the front of the home. There were no lights on; the place didn't look lived in. Oliver pulled the car around in the back and stopped the motor. He got out and came around to help Alex. Alex got out of the car, then turned and lifted Madeline up in his arms. His leg was aching, he needed aspirin, something. Oliver saw the look on his face. "I've got something inside, it should help."

Oliver climbed the steps of the back porch and reached over the ledge of the doorway. He pulled the key out and unlocked the door. He flipped on the switch, flooding the room with light. "Bring her in here." Alex did as he was told and followed Oliver through the back room into a large bedroom. "Put her here." Oliver had turned on the lamp at the side of the bed. Alex laid her down, and then touched her head. She was still out. His hands touched at her hair, feeling for an injury. He found the large knot at the back of her head. "She's going to be out for the rest of the night."

"Will she be all right?" Oliver questioned.

"I hope so; she must have been hit pretty hard."

"She didn't fall?"

"No, I have a feeling she was hit from behind."

"Should we call a doctor?"

"Do you know of someone?"

"I think I do, an old friend."

"Is there a phone in the house?"

"No, I will have to go to his home, but he doesn't live far. Will you be all right until I get back?"

"I'll be fine."

"What about your leg?"

"Aspirin, please?"

"I've got codeine if you prefer."

"That will do."

"I'll be right back."

Alex took off his jacket, he saw the blood but he was just too tired. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes.

"Go ahead." Oliver had returned.

"What?" Alex spoke up. "Go ahead, lie down and get some sleep." "Here?" Alex looked to the bed.

"I'm sure she won't mind."

"I wouldn't count on that." He looked down at Madeline.

"Here take the pills." Oliver handed him the capsules and a small cup of water. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'm not going anyplace."

Oliver turned around and looked at Alex. "You do realize the police will be looking for her."

"I've thought about that."

"Like I said, no one knows about this place. You should both be safe for the time being."

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"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Oliver left the room and Alex heard the motor as the car passed the window.

Alex downed the pills, undid his tie, and removed his shirt. He found the bathroom and relieved himself. He grabbed a towel, doused it with water and went to Madeline. He washed her face and then sponged the blood from her hands. He remembered washing her on the previous day, only then there had been no blood. He realized that blood could be traced. He was too tired to do anything about it now. He unzipped her dress, slid it down and removed her shoes, only her silk lingerie stayed in tack. He pulled on the sheet until she was covered. He slipped off his shoes and then trousers, and lay down beside her. He reached for the quilt at the bottom of the bed and brought it up over them. And then he turned on his side to watch over her until Oliver returned.

When he awoke a strange man stood over him. He was startled and jumped to his feet.

"Alex, this is Doctor Gregory."

"I'm sorry if I scared you." The man was much older than Oliver. His body was tall, lean, his head held a few wisps' of grey hair. He wore gold spectacles across the bridge of his nose. He was dressed in a nice suit, respectable. He carried a walrus skin bag in one hand and his hat in the other. "I wasn't quite sure which of you, was the patient." "It's Madeline," Oliver answered.

"You came in such an awful hurry, demanding I drop everything, I guess I didn't hear you." Dr. Gregory sat his bag on the table next to the bed. He laid his hat down on top of it. He moved around to the opposite side of the bed, to Madeline. He touched at her wrist and then felt her forehead.

"The wound is in the back of her head," Alex informed him. Doc Gregory moved his hand slowly over her head, stopping when he found the large protrusion. "Oliver, get my stethoscope." Oliver did as he was asked, moving the Doc's hat to the small chair and then opening the bag. He had the scope in his hand, reaching over the bed to the doctor. Gregory took the scope, placed it in his ears and listened carefully to the rhythm of her heart. He put the stethoscope down and raised one of her eye lids. "There's a small flashlight in there somewhere, can you find it?"

It took a moment for Oliver to find the small silver light. He then handed it to Gregory. Again Gregory opened Madeline's eyelid, he flashed the light and looked into the pool of aqua. He repeated the procedure in the other eye. He looked at Alex and then to Oliver. "She has a severe concussion. I would suggest taking her to the hospital, but I understand that is impossible." "What do you suggest?" Oliver probed.

"Someone should stay with her at all times. Don't let her get out of bed and keep her warm. She will probably run a fever for the next few days. Her temperature is already elevated; an ice pack should help the swelling." "Will she be all right?" Alex looked to the doctor.

"I hope so. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids. I don't think she will want to eat but if you can, give her some broth. I'll try and get back out here tomorrow evening after my rounds at the hospital." Gregory walked around to his bag and replaced his instruments. He had his hat in his hand and his bag under his arm when Oliver started to take him back out to the car. Gregory walked out the door and Oliver turned around. "I'll pick up some food while I'm gone. It's a good thing it's Friday night, or should I say Saturday morning, we have the weekend to figure out what to do."

"Oliver…"

"What?"

"Is there a Mrs. Chadwick waiting for you?"

"There was once upon a time."

"Not now?"

"No, Alex. She passed last year."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll be back in the afternoon."

Alex looked at him, felt the sadness in the man's eyes.

"I have some things to take care of. Oh, there's an ice pack in the bathroom. The ice box is in the kitchen, there should be ice. And there might be some canned food in the cupboard."

"Don't worry about it, I'm not hungry."

"I'll see you later."

Alex heard the car doors and then the motor. He had looked in the bathroom and found the pack. He hoped there was ice. The kitchen was clean, sterile. He wondered if this is where Mrs. Chadwick had lived. He opened the cupboards, everything in its place. The dishes were pottery, fiesta blue and 64

orange. Another cupboard held an assorted variety of cans, all Campbell soups. He then went to the ice box. He opened the bottom first. The shelves were empty except for a few bottles of soda, Coca Cola. He opened the top. There was a block of ice, frozen solid. He took it out and banged it on the tile.

He took the chips, placed them inside the ice pack and carried it back to the bedroom. She had not moved. He touched her forehead and then placed the bag at the back of her head. He held it in place and then lowered his body down next to hers. She turned her head and moaned. Her hand rose to her head, trying to push the pack away. He held it there with his right hand and touched her hand with his left, he was soft but firm. She fought him for a moment and then relinquished her movements. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. He opened her palm and touched his lips to the center. His lips then touched her face and then her lips. She didn't move. His left hand fell to her breast and he touched it, embraced it. And then he closed his eyes.

Chapter 9

"I thought you might be interested in this." Oliver placed the newspaper down in front of him. Alex was seated in the room at the back of the house. He guessed it was a den. The leather furniture was comfortable. He had taken his place in the large chair by the fireplace. He had found the wood near the fireplace and the matches in the kitchen. Once lit, he had sat down to watch the flames. He was watching the sparks fly up the chimney when he heard the car. He knew it was Oliver, he recognized the sound of the motor.

He looked at the picture blazing before him; almost like the flames in the fireplace. He searched the headline…"Ricardo Montoya Questioned in Brutal Slaying!"

He looked at the picture. Ricardo looked stunned, sick. Montoya was exiting the police station; he was flanked by two men, two men Alex had never seen. The article went on to say that Ricardo had been brought in for questioning after the maid discovered the body. She had thought at first it was Ricardo but had come to find out it wasn't. She then called the police. The police were also seeking the whereabouts of Mrs. Montoya. She had not been seen since the party. Montoya maintained that she had left without him. Leonard Goldstein verified that account. Montoya was not a suspect. Goldstein claimed Ricardo had been at the mansion the entire evening, and that is where the police had found him in the early morning hours. He was hung-over and had made good use of one of Goldstein's spare bedrooms. Alex realized this was sounding all too familiar.

Another picture verified what Alex had come to know personally, the body of the murdered man was found inside the foyer of the Montoya home, near the fountain. The newspaper ran his picture, both pictures, before and after. The after was lying face down near the fountain. The before was a studio picture. His name was Roger Bennington. Alex remembered him, the pretty boy at the party. The paper went on to describe him, an extra at the studio. He had a few bit parts in some of the B movies, but nothing big had ever happened to Roger, that is until now. This would always be his moment of fame. But then Montoya's name had been given top billing over his.

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"Alex…"

"Yes, Oliver."

"It says they have not found a murder weapon. What do you think of that?"

"I would say that they probably never will."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Oliver…"

"Yes, Alex."

"I'm sure you realize whose fingerprints are on that weapon?"

"I might be able to make a calculated guess."

"Don't you agree with me, it should never be found?"

"You might be right."

"I know I'm right."

"You think she's guilty don't you?"

"Yes."

"You care about her that much?"

"I care about her."

"I see."

"What do you see?"

"You've set yourself up; you may not like the consequences."

"We'll have to wait and find out."

"And how do you know I can be trusted?"

"Oliver…"

"What?"

"I wouldn't want to have to kill you."

"You would do that to protect her?"

"I've killed before." Alex thought about his answer. He had killed, maybe not in action but in deed. His father was very much dead.

"That's not my question."

"What is your question?"

"You would kill to protect her?"

"Yes, I would!"

"Alex…"

"Yes…"

"I would do the same."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"You're her father!"

Oliver looked at the man sitting there so relaxed talking to him about murder, about killing, about protecting the one person in the world whom he loved. "When did you find out?"

"This morning!"

Oliver thought for a moment…"Her room?"

"You brought us here."

"I didn't think about it." "You've left it the same."

"My wife did."

"And Goldstein doesn't know about this place?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I hope to God he doesn't."

"Tell me Oliver how did Madeline meet Montoya?"

"Goldstein arranged their meeting."

"Now, tell me why she married him?"

"I can't, I don't know. I tried to keep her away from Leonard. We sent her away to boarding school. But when she came back she had this silly notion she wanted to be a movie star. Margaret and I didn't know what to do."

"Margaret?"

"Margaret was my wife, Madeline's mother." Alex looked at the sorrow on Oliver's face when he spoke her name. There was a silence for a few moments before Oliver continued. "That is the last thing we ever wanted for Madeline. But she insisted. She knew I worked for Goldstein. She thought I still drove for him. I did, but not exclusively. He had already brought in Gage."

"Gage?"

"Gage Farrow, he is the new driver, the new bodyguard."

"Why did you give in?"

"I didn't, she sought out Goldstein on her own. She had been gone over four years, he hardly recognized her. But he wanted her and signed her up in a binding contract."

"How binding?"

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"Extremely binding! But she liked it. He let her have bit parts in a few movies last year. She is really very good. She has always been talented. That is one of the reasons we sent her away. We never wanted Goldstein to know

exactly how talented she was."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to; just take my word for it. We never wanted Madeline anywhere near him."

"And then she was."

"Yes and the next thing I knew she ran off and married Montoya."

"She didn't know about his sexual preference?"

"No, she was too naïve. She saw what all the other women in the world saw in him, a handsome, sexual man, a movie star and one of the studio's best."

"When did she find out?"

"I presume on her wedding night."

"You've never asked her?"

"No, I have never asked her. I guess I didn't have the nerve. Her mother had just died that year. I was not thinking straight. The next thing I knew they had eloped to Mexico. She had been living in her own apartment for the last year. Goldstein made sure she had the finest. There was nothing I could do. Margaret was very sick at the time and we didn't expect her to live, but it was still a shock when she died. And then within the year Madeline had married

Montoya."

"Does Goldstein know how you feel?"

"I'm sure he does."

"I wonder why he keeps you around."

"Because of Madeline, I'm sure, and I'm sure you've seen the way he looks at her?"

"I've seen it."

"It's enough to make me nauseous."

Alex had to think about Goldstein for a moment. His hand wrapped tightly in Madeline's. His callous look when he saw her running away.

"I worry that he might find out about this house," Alex interjected.

"I don't know how. We only used it for our vacations and summer months. Our other home is near the studio."

"I'm sure he is going to be looking for Madeline, he'll probably have you watched."

"Then maybe it isn't safe for me to be here."

"No, it is probably better that you return to your home, or the Owen house. If he asks about her, tell him you don't know."

"But what will you do here without a car?"

"I'm not sure. What about Doctor Gregory, do you think he could arrange to have a car brought here? You know that I have the money."

"I'll go by his house."

"No, I don't think that is wise. Call him and see what he can do."

"He is supposed to be here tomorrow evening."

"I know."

"I'll call him later; I guess I should get back."

"Oliver, I won't let anything happen to Madeline."

"Somehow I believe you."

"Thanks."

"I brought you plenty of provisions, enough to last for a week. I need to get them out of the car."

"I'll help you."

"No, you stay here. By the way, how is Madeline?"

"She was sleeping soundly when I left her. I replaced the ice and the swelling seems to be going down."

"Did she wake up?"

"No."

"I'll go get the groceries, and Alex…thank you."

"I'll go check on Madeline, but it is I who should be thanking you."

Chapter 10

Oliver was gone. He had checked on Madeline. The house was empty, it was quiet. Alejandro walked back into the lovely room. He wanted to view it again; he wanted to search out the memories of a little girl. The wallpaper was filled with lavender flowers weaving through a white lattice with green vines intertwined. The bed was touched with a lavender gingham spread ruffled in white at the bottom. The dressing table held all the dear photos of a little girl and her loving parents. He looked again at the photos, studied them.

Madeline had been a darling little girl. One small oval frame showed her in a long white dress, she couldn't have been more than two years of age. Her hair was light in the sepia toned picture. Others showed her wearing a "Dutch Boy" haircut, her hair as white as snow. Several pictured her in dancing costumes and one when she was older, a teenager in a lovely dress. She had certainly changed since those pictures were taken. He wasn't sure for a moment how he had recognized her but he had. And then everything fell into place. There was one family picture of the three of them. A woman he presumed to be Margaret Chadwick, stood on one side of Madeline, and a younger version of Oliver on the other. They looked very proud of their young daughter.

Alex only stayed for a few minutes. He wanted something to eat. Better still he yearned for a hot cup of coffee. He needed the caffeine. He walked back to the kitchen. Oliver had outdone himself. There was not only enough food for a week, but Alex felt sure they wouldn't need anything more for several weeks. He realized though they would never be there that long. As soon as Madeline was up to it, he would take her away. Maybe back to Mexico. He knew of a place that was safe. He thought about that place, wondered why he had ever left, but then again, he had found Madeline.

He put some water on to percolate and went about putting the groceries away. Oliver had even thought to bring toothbrushes, small cans of tooth powder, and other toiletries. He had thought of everything. A new shirt, boxers and trousers were included in one bag. A soft white blouse and slacks were in another. Oliver was a life saver. Madeline's beautiful dress, his white jacket and

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black trousers now lay under the smoldering embers. He had destroyed everything that sported Bennington's blood. He only hoped that Oliver would think to clean the seats in the limousine.

The water had started bubbling as he emptied the last of the bags. Alex spooned several scoops of coffee into the percolator and then went to the fireplace. He stoked the embers watching to make sure that nothing incriminating remained. Then he went to check on his charge. But when he went back to the bedroom she was not there.

His heart fell for a moment, felt the panic and then moved to the hallway. He didn't go far, just across the way. He opened the door. There she was curled up on the lavender bed. She lay in a fetal position under the covers, and he realized she was reliving those days of childhood. He walked over beside the bed. He touched at her forehead, it was cool. She was breathing peacefully. He let her sleep. He closed the door behind him and went back to the comfort of the leather. He hadn't waited long; he heard the sweet sounds of bubbling brewed coffee. He found the large cup in the cupboard. It must belong to Oliver, a man's cup. He filled it and went back to vegetate.

The wonderful aroma filled the house. Alex could be a good cook at times, those times when Rosa wasn't around. This was one of them. The steak sizzled in the pan along with the chopped onions and potatoes. He had neatly peeled and cut the squares. He had put in several slabs of butter, not margarine, but real butter. He realized how hard this commodity was to come by. Nowadays, everyone had been forced to use the mixtures of oleo, at least on the home fronts of America. They were more fortunate in his homeland. They raised their own cattle, beef. The cows were milked and the milk churned into butter. Rosa used it unsparingly. He flipped the steak and turned the flame down, covered the pan and let it steam until perfected.

He didn't particularly care for salad. He thought about the Cobb he had been forced to eat. But the head of lettuce was fresh. Oliver had brought tomatoes and had furnished him with several large, ripe avocados. He would have preferred to make guacamole, later he thought, for now he would settle for slices of each over the lettuce. He made a quick mixture of mayo and ketchup. He tasted with his finger. It wasn't bad.

He sat a plate at the table, thought about it and placed two, also knives and forks. He wasn't sure why he felt so inclined, maybe the thought of Madeline forced him to do so. He found the glasses in the cupboard. They were brilliant garnet crystals. He poured the bottle of red wine into both. He opened one of the drawers and found linen napkins. He placed them on the table. He looked at his work of art. He was going to sit down, had second thoughts and walked back to her room. He opened the door and looked in. She was still in her comfortable poise. He walked to the bed and looked down on her. She was so very lovely. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, touching down on her lips… "Alejandro?" Her voice was soft, her eyes opened.

"How do you feel?"

"Where are we?"

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"This is your home."

"Home…" She started to rise but felt the stabbing pain. "Ouch! What happened…my head?" Her hands rose to the back of her head, touching and cringing at the pain.

"Please, lie down, you've been hurt."

"Hurt?"

"Don't you remember?"

"No." Her head moved slightly from side to side. He watched her as she studied his eyes.

"Why are we here?"

"Is there someplace else you want to be?"

"I don't know."

"What do you remember?"

"I'm not sure…"

"You do remember the party, Mr. Goldstein's?"

"I remember the party." Her words were slow, trying to pronounce each syllable of each word. He felt sorry for her.

"What else?"

"I remember you…" She stopped, tried to concentrate, trying hard to remember the specific details. "I was mad at you, but I don't know why…you wouldn't let me go."

"You did go Madeline; can you tell me where you went?"

She felt her head. "I don't remember."

"You aren't still mad at me?"

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"I don't think so."

"You need to rest."

"I don't want to rest. There's someplace I need to be." She started to get out of bed but he stopped her.

"The doctor said you have a concussion."

"The doctor!"

"Yes, Doctor Gregory, Oliver's friend."

"Doctor Gregory? I don't know Doctor Gregory."

"Maybe it will come to you later. But he said you should stay in bed." "Alex…" she called him the more familiar name.

"What Madeline?"

"I like the way you say Madeline."

"I'm glad."

"Alex…"

"Yes."

"I'm really thirsty."

"I'll get you a glass of water." He started to leave.

"No, don't leave me." She started to get up, realized she was undressed, suddenly felt reserved and pulled at the sheet.

"Okay, I won't leave you." He leaned down and picked her up. Her arms went around his neck and the sheet dropped to her waist. She looked bewildered, ashamed. "It's all right, don't you remember?" The look on her face told him she didn't.

"Why, can't I remember?"

"Don't worry, I remember." His words were soft, intent, and he meant them. Oh, how he remembered. He held her close to him and carried her to the leather couch. "How about some dinner," he coaxed. She looked to the table and the place settings. "Were you expecting someone?"

"Only you!" Her eyes traced his and she smiled. "You really fixed dinner for me?"

"Do you feel up to it?"

"What about my clothes?"

"I'm not expecting anyone else, are you?"

"No, but…"

"Madeline, there is nothing I would like better than to eat with you, dressed or otherwise, although I might prefer the otherwise." He carried her to the chair and sat her down at the table. He tugged on the sheet and brought it up over her shoulder. He took the two ends and knotted them. "Is that better?" She only smiled.

He brought the skillet and dished a few potatoes onto her plate. He put the steak on his and the remainder of the potatoes and onions on top. He got the salad and placed a small amount alongside her portion of potatoes. He knew she wouldn't be able to eat much. He left the rest of the salad in its dish and set it on the table. He sat down and handed her the garnet glass. She took it from him and waited for him. He touched his glass to hers and watched as she took a few sips. She coughed and set the glass back down.

"What's the matter? Is there something wrong with the wine?" He lifted his glass to his lips and tasted, it tasted fine. "Take another sip, it's really very good." She lifted the glass again, took another sip and made a funny face.

"What…?" he questioned.

"I forgot…I don't drink!" He looked surprised at her words.

"You don't drink?"

"No."

He found her words strange because when he found her unconscious she seemed to reek of alcohol.

"Everyone drinks wine."

"I don't think I ever acquired the taste for it."

"Would you try now?"

"What?"

"Would you try and acquire a taste for it, for me? I really don't like to drink alone." He thought about his words, they were untrue. He was used to drinking alone. He had been for the last five years. But tonight he did not want to drink by himself.

She smiled at him and lifted the glass; she sipped until she felt the warm glow. She sipped until she felt so relaxed she didn't care about anything. He cut up delicate little bites of steak for her; she tasted but did not eat. He remembered the doctor's words…broth. He rose from his chair and went to the cupboard. He took one of the cans from the shelf, found the opener in the drawer and poured the mixture into a small pan. He added the water and waited for it to boil. She watched him, wondering what he was doing. When it was warm he poured it into a large cup and brought it to her. "Try this."

She touched it to her lips; it was warm and soothing, Campbell's chicken noodle. She sipped while he ate everything on his plate. He opened another 76

bottle of wine and refilled their glasses. He looked out of the window to the evening's sunset. He realized the day was over. She had slept the better part of the day away. She was better and he was relieved.

He carried her back to the couch while he did the dishes. She watched him. He washed, rinsed and let them dry in the rack. He dried his hands and went to the chair. He sat down and looked at her. She did not take her eyes off of him. She studied him intently and he wondered when she would remember. She knew him, obviously, she knew the house, but she didn't know why she was there or why he was there with her. Her eyes grew weary, the effects of the wine. At least she was relaxed. She hadn't complained about her head hurting. She hadn't complained about anything. He was the one suffering. He needed more codeine. He rose and went to the sink. Oliver had purposely left the bottle there. He opened it and took out several tablets, downed them and came back to the chair.

He stretched his leg out and started to massage the area. She watched. "Madeline…"

"What Alex…" But her words were slurred.

"I have to go lie down. You can stay here if you like."

"No, please, I don't want to be alone."

"All right, I won't leave you." He was tired. He would have to carry her. She put her arms up and he lifted…he was in pain. He walked slowly; somehow she could feel his pain. "Which room?" he asked.

"Whichever you want…"

His steps led him back to the room with the larger bed. It was all he could do to lay her down. He fell on the bed and groaned. He lay on his back, stretched his leg, and put his hand over his head. When would the pills take effect? He could feel her move; she was trying to free herself from the sheet. He didn't move. He was just too damn tired. After a few minutes she relaxed beside him, he figured she had freed herself. He closed his eyes.

He felt the gentle movement. He was deep into sleep but the pleasure was unbelievable. He groaned but not from pain. He felt her soft hand; she had not needed any guidance this time. He was swollen, hard and it felt good, but he wanted something else. He turned; she was on her side, touching him. "I remember you." That is all she said and then she leaned into him and kissed him.

She was bare. Ah, hell…who cared about a little pain?

Chapter 11

The officers stood guarding the home. They had used their tape across the tiled foyer. They had also blocked the front doorway into the Montoya villa. The fountain still flowed. The birds overhead still took flight in their aviary. The green parrot still perched in the entry, repeating its famous words when one or the other of the officers passed by.

Everything looked neat and in its place. The only trace of something out of the ordinary was the spot in which Roger Bennington had died. It was his red blood that had pooled and dried on the ground. And around the blood was the form of his body, as it had been in death, neatly drawn in white. Ricardo had looked down upon the tile. He had thought about Roger, why had he been there at their home? He pictured him there in person. He wondered if he had seen it coming, if he had been frightened. He knew Roger, he was a gentle man. He would never have fought back. Why had Madeline stabbed him? He couldn't quite figure it out. She had known about Roger for months. In fact he wondered if she had not suspected before their trip to Mexico. He had tried his best to woo her; he had tried to win her over.

Leo Goldstein had commanded him to make her his bride and he did as he was commanded to do. There was no other way. He knew from the beginning that she was pure. He had tasted her, her kisses were sweet, but they were not what he desired. Roger Bennington is all he ever desired. They had been sleeping together for the last two years, ever since Roger had been given a small part in Ricardo's film, "Dancing in the Dark!" And from that day forward Roger and Montoya had not only been dancing in the dark but had carried on a torrid love affair behind the scenes. Montoya knew, as did Roger, that homosexual behavior was not permitted in Hollywood, at least not in the front door. What happened in the rear was just that, in the rear. Men had been screwing men for decades. The casting couch wasn't just made for women. Most of the big producers in Hollywood swung both ways. A little fellatio was common among men whores and more common in the producer's office, all but Leonard Goldstein's. That is one thing Goldstein forbade.

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It was the first night Ricardo had slept home in months. He looked in at her room. He wondered exactly where she had gone. He also wondered when the police would find her. He shut her door and walked down the hall to his room. He hesitated before he opened the door. He had not slept in this room by himself in almost two years. Out of respect for Madeline he had moved most of his things to Roger's apartment. In the beginning he left only after dark. But over the past few months he didn't even bother to come home, only if Madeline needed something. After the initial shock, she had almost been kind about his affair.

He opened the door and walked to his bed. He tore at his clothing and lay down. He thought about that first night, both, the one with Roger and the one with Madeline. The night with Roger had been more pleasurable. The night with Madeline had been a fiasco. They had flown down after filming one afternoon in early November. She had held his hand during the flight. He had tried to behave as a man. He had smiled at her, but the entire time he was thinking of someone else. They had landed and Leo had made sure that a car was waiting for them. They were taken to the Justice of the Peace and married in a short brief ceremony. Madeline had dressed in a simple white suit. She had a small hat on her head, a white veil playing peek-a-boo with her eyes. He felt her tense when the words of the ceremony declared that they might now kiss as man and wife. He felt awkward, he had tried his luck before, and this was not any different. She was a novice, Goldstein had warned him of her purity, demanded that he make a woman of her or else. Montoya had tried his best to bed her.

They had been delivered to one of the best hotels. Goldstein had arranged for a suite, a bridal suite. There were oysters and champagne waiting. She had slipped into the bathroom, slipped in to change her dress. She had come out wearing the beautiful white negligee. His eyes touched down on her body for a minute. She was beautiful; everything any man would ever want, any other man. Ricardo waited a few minutes, watching her, her eyes fell. She wasn't sure what she should do and she had the slight inclination that maybe Ricardo wasn't sure either. He walked the few steps toward her and she looked up at him. He leaned down and brushed her lips, no, it wasn't going to work. "Madeline…"

"Is there something wrong?" she had asked meekly. "I think I need to tell you something."

She had questioned him with her eyes. He watched her, his eyes were pleading with her, trying to make her understand. "Oh, I didn't realize." That is all she said and turned around and went back into the bathroom. He had left her, he didn't have the guts to stay and face her. He went to the bar and drank a few tequilas, and then he picked up a phone and called home. They were on a flight back the next day and she never commented or let on to anyone that their marriage and honeymoon had been anything else but wonderful.

Madeline was the perfect wife. She was by his side everyday at the studio. She made sure he was taken care of during filming. She was always endearing to him, and as far as anyone knew they were the perfect Hollywood couple. The press had a field day with them. Goldstein had let it slip that they had eloped and the reporters had been waiting for their return flight. Their pictures were plastered on every paper in Hollywood and beyond. She was certainly the loving wife, she never took her eyes off of him, and the press ate it up. They also liked the fact that she was an up and coming star, he was already there…they were "golden!"

Ricardo played the part as long as he could. Their days were full, he seemed attentive but his nights were filled with Roger. It always came back to Roger. He thought about the previous night. They had been having a pleasant conversation with Leo, then Madeline had come running down the stairs, something sparked and Leo had blown up. "Go get your wife!" Ricardo had gone after her. But when he couldn't find her anyplace he had come back. Neither Roger nor Goldstein was there. Ricardo had searched, not for Leo but for Roger. He figured Madeline would find her way home with someone. He was about to leave when Leo approached him. "Did you find Madeline?" He had made the negative reply and Ricardo watched the fire spark in Goldstein's eyes.

"You stupid fool!" Ricardo wasn't quite sure what Leo meant, but the man turned around and warned him not to leave. He was still standing there when Goldstein disappeared. He went into the ballroom and was cornered by a group of young starlets, all waiting and willing to bed him. This is when it really got good. He spoke in his quiet, sensual Spanish accent. "You realize I am still a newlywed."

He had teased, touched and displayed his famous sense of humor and seductive charm. He had let them touch him; literally touch him all over his body. This is what he was paid to do. Let the female population fondle and caress him. They had tasted of his mouth, dipped into his taste and sparked 80

a reflex that he made sure they knew about. He had even let his hands wander over some of their bodies, especially the big buxom blonde. She was famous for her one night stands. He made sure he kept a drink in one hand at all times. He drank a lot, way too much, but that is the only way he could play this game. And he had been playing it for years. The women loved him, there was no denying that. Over the years he had even slept with several. If his performance lacked potency or was not quite what they expected, he could always blame it on his drunkenness. None of them ever knew or ever suspected that he, like Zorro, carried a gay blade.

Hours later, he found himself in Goldstein's spare bedroom. He was nursing a bad hangover. He had too much to drink; the broads and the bubbly had gone on for many hours. Madeline was gone, and he hadn't found Roger. He couldn't even remember how he got to the bedroom. He rubbed his head, the dull ache forever reminding him that somehow Leo suspected. That would never do, but then again what could Leo do? Ricardo had made his mark in Hollywood; he even had his Golden Star on the Boulevard. His hand prints and foot prints were found at Grauman's. His movies were successful and would be as long as the fans were satisfied. And they always were, as long as the fans and Leo thought he bedded women.

Chapter 12

Hired as a stage hand just before 1903, he had become a quick study. He realized that the theater was where the money and fame lie. The actors and actresses were given great respect, undying loyalty and mass attention. It was also there that his sexual preference had been set. He had watched the handsome man perform over and over for the adoring fans. The performer was well into his late 40's but no one would ever suspect. His profile was what led the female audiences to swoon. He was considered one of the greatest lovers of all time. And he was indeed a great lover, unbeknown to world, his lovers were all men. Leo like the rest of the world did not realize, he had been taken under wing, he had ultimately been taken.

Randolph Lake had been kind, going out of his way to make the young man feel at ease. He guided him into his private life, his private world. Randolph's world was what Leo admired, sought after. Leo did not have to wait at the stage door; he was literally led backstage and into the massive dressing room. There Randolph had tried to undress him, touch him. He remembered that feeling, it made him sick.

Randolph panicked. He thought he could use Leo and he was wrong. In order to quiet the boy he would bequeath him with anything he desired. Leo hesitated at first, remembering that men were to be just that…men! He couldn't be bribed. He wanted to shout it from the rafters, Randolph Lake was a faggot!

It was under the tutelage of the great man that Leo found rebirth. He never had to grant him sexual favors he only had to shut his mouth. He found it benefited him very much. He had been gifted with money, the finest clothing and a place of residence, all compliments of his ardent admirer. He had been cautioned of the outcome. If anyone ever found out, the man would be in ruination and the money would stop. Leo learned to keep silent. He also learned how to manipulate. He learned that a slight slip of the tongue could ruin a man or make him a king. He chose to be a king. In essence, Leonard Goldstein learned how to blackmail, it certainly paid off.

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Just after 1904 he had given his regards to Broadway and he had journeyed to a milder more profitable climate. He had been gifted with a tremendous amount of money, thanks to his mentor. He had enough money to start a new production company out west, out where the orange trees were plenty and the sun never sets. His mentor though sad to see him leave, felt the sudden relief that he was again safe. Hollywood was a long way from Broadway; he determined he would use a little more discrepancy in choosing Leo's successor.

Leo had met several new friends in his first few weeks in Los Angeles. He frequented many nice restaurants and nightclubs. He found an assortment of men like himself, all realizing that the motion picture industry was the up and coming venue and all wanting to form a new production company. There were five of them in all, Samuel Sheridan, Marvin Ackerman, John Maher, Simon Sheldon and Leonard Goldstein.

They were all young and eager; their union became a success overnight. The senior partner at the time was Samuel Sheridan, hence Sheridan Production Company. The others were content in the name. It had a nice flow, and not necessarily Jewish, although all men were of the Hebrew persuasion. They were all exceptional business men.

Their first few productions, silent films were short, but well received. Over the years they had broadened their scope, had contracted several exceptional actors, all claiming great talent, and the majority did. They had comedians and serious actors in their company. Things were going extremely well. Their first full feature length film with synchronized sound effects and musical sound track premiered in 1926. It was a sultry sensual film, Desert Song. There were more kisses in this film than in other movie of its time, it set a record. The star was one of the hottest matinee idols of all time. He symbolized all that was forbidden. The women fell at his feet, worshipped, and adored him. His mysterious eroticism was what the American women had long been denied. Later on a condom would come to be named after him, although, at the time no one had ever heard of such a thing.

Business was good. All five partners led the lives of the privileged. Each owned not only one home but at least three, all kept mansions in West Hollywood, vacation homes in the desert and cabins in the mountains. They owned multiply luxury cars, and kept numerous mistresses. Three had married, Ackerman, Sheldon and Maher, but their mating had not stopped the flow of both men and women in and out of their bedrooms. They kept their casting couches open and available. There seemed to be a long line of wanting young actors and actresses. Their doors were always open and the wannabes clamored for the opportunity of pleasing one or more of the great men. Leonard enjoyed being pleased, but always by women. His office became his sexual domain for many years. His couch had to be replaced often.

Leonard Goldstein was one who had remained single. He made sure his home was always accessible to the young starlets and future stars. He had been unsatisfied with his first several homes; he wanted something much more elaborate, functional. He called in a budding new architect, Brett Owen, and the two hit it off. Brett was a very handsome man and Leo had a wonderful idea. Brett did design the exclusive mansion high up in the hills, and his design even out magnified Leo's expectations. And Leo did something he seldom ever did, Leo offered him a contract. He persuaded him that although he was an apt designer, his talents lay in motion pictures. Leo promised him the world and he delivered.

The year was 1915 and Brett's first film was a major success. He rose to stardom overnight. It was also at this time that Goldstein had hired a new employee. She like all the others had come to Hollywood to seek her destiny. She was like most of them…pretty. But her ventures had proven to be fruitless and she had taken the job in the studio commissary. He had watched her. He also saw that his favored star, Brett Owen, saw her, not only saw her, but lusted for the young girl. At the time Leonard was not a bad looking man. He was in his early 40's. He kept his body fit and dressed to enhance his appearance. Leonard probably wouldn't have cared about the young girl but he realized she was the bait. She could be Brett's downfall. He called her into his office one day. She was very young, and very innocent. He came on to her that day. She was overcome, impressed. The great Leonard Goldstein cared for her.

For the next few months she shared the admiration of both men. And then she became pregnant. She was ashamed. She had no living relatives and a child on the way. She didn't want to trap Owen into marriage, but he suggested they elope. They might have if Leo hadn't found out. She never knew how he did. But he told her that if she married Brett, it would be the last thing either of them ever did. Leo wanted her to get rid of the child but she refused. She was allowed to work for him if she called off the relationship with Brett.

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Leo had threatened her with the one person she loved most. She knew he could ruin Brett. But he promised her a contract, signed, sealed and delivered if she did as she was told. She realized that Leonard had never ever cared about her. There were so many young beautiful starlets coming in and out of his office and home, and Leonard Goldstein bedded each and every one of them.

She might have cared, but she had the contract.

Oliver Chadwick knew the young girl. He was Leonard's trusted chauffeur, but he knew what Leonard was capable of. He also was aware of the fact that the young girl was pregnant. Oliver and his wife Margaret had been unable to conceive, that is when Oliver came up with the plan. The girl was taken to the home in San Bernardino. It was there she gave birth to a baby girl, Madeline! She placed the child in the Chadwick's care, giving them rights to adopt the baby girl. A few months later she came back to the Sheridan Studios. Leonard Goldstein never knew who adopted the child, he never thought he cared.

Brett Owen was so happy to see her back. For the first time he stood his ground, he obviously loved her. He didn't care about Goldstein, the movie industry or anything else. Leo found he could not control the forces of nature at least that is what he led her to believe. He called her into his office one evening. She was really exceptional and he tried his luck one last time. She declined. But that didn't stop Leonard. She fought but he struck her and then violated her. She didn't have the nerve to tell Brett, only a few weeks later when she suspected she was again pregnant.

Brett wanted to marry her. He didn't care that the child might not be his. She almost gave in, but realized she could not live with the reminder that Leonard Goldstein might be the father. The doctor assured her he would find a good home for the child. The plan was put in motion. On December 25th, 1917 she delivered another baby girl, one year and four months after Madeline. The child was placed for adoption.

They eloped to Nevada. Leonard didn't care. It was good publicity. She was very pretty and he planned on using her in films, planned on keeping the contract they had negotiated. The newlyweds settled in the home in the hills. Their life really started that day. It was on that day that the new young star had risen, Olivia Owen.

She knew where Madeline was, she was content in the fact that she was in a good home. She even got to see the child on occasion. The other child was the one she thought about…often!

Olivia's success startled Leonard Goldstein. He never figured that her beauty, her gentle nature would come across on screen. But it did. Everyone loved her, including the cameramen and directors. She was a rich find and the cameras loved her. She had light blonde hair. Her eyes were a vivid shade of blue. Her body was lithe, very feminine. No one would have ever suspected her of giving birth to a child, much less two of them. Her body was even now more voluptuous. Her breasts were full and costumes were designed to enhance that feature.

The Sheridan Production Company was thrilled with Olivia's and Brett's success. They were now promoting a film in which the two happy young lovers could star in together. It was early in 1919 and the execs wanted the film to premiere before Christmas. Usually it only took a few weeks to film a movie but this was something different. The script had to be rewritten to increase Olivia's part. Brett wasn't upset, he thrilled in the fact that she was rising to great height and fame. His only thought was that the baby they wanted would have to be postponed.

The filming began in the summer. Their days were long. They arose before 4:00 a.m., were driven to the studio by 5:00 a.m., and spent at least twelve to fifteen hours at the studio. They had costume fittings on weekends, studied their scripts together in the evening and just contented themselves that they were able to work together. They were very much in love. Everyone could see that they were enamored by each other. It only lent to the beauty of the movie. It was a tear jerker. Olivia's character dies in childbirth at the end of the movie. Brett showed to be an exceptional actor; his portrayal of the grieving husband came across in flying colors. But he only had to think of her, her mortality, her dying, the tears came easily. The title of the picture had been up in the air, until Goldstein found the correct words…"Tomorrow's Paradise!" It was a blockbuster. Their fame was secured. Their names became simultaneous.

Chapter 13

It was early October 1922. The Owens were planning one of their extravagant parties. They had decided on a costume party. It was to be held on Halloween, All Hallows Night. The Night of the Dead! The invitation had simply stated…"Let the haunting begin!" They had sent out a hundred invitations, but there were always those of Hollywood fame who liked to crash. Brett and Olivia usually didn't mind. But this was one of the parties they had purposely avoided sending Leonard Goldstein an invitation to.

They had been trying for the last few months to get pregnant. Olivia was becoming desperate as each month passed and she was not with child. All she could do was think of the two little girls she had given up. She did not want to have Leonard Goldstein anywhere around her at this time. She didn't need any reminders. Olivia knew the recommendations of the studio, no pregnancies and no babies. But she was long past that. For years she had stuck to the policy. No more. She wanted another child, Brett's child.

The house had been decorated inside and out. The Owens had hired a set designer, one of the best in Hollywood. He had brought in pieces from an old movie set. The outside of the house was given the facade of the house of the dead, right out of film history. Spooky spider webs were weaved and gleamed in the moonlight. Gates of iron had been placed all around the estate, and mystical fog spread through their openings, and covered the ground. Tombs of the dead had been placed around the yard and ghostly creatures lurked there in the night. Sound systems too had been set up and the haunting music and ghostly echoes of nightmares past, flowed through the air.

At least a hundred carved jack-o-lanterns filled the yard, and great room, others sat resting on the staircases and mantles throughout the house. Black candles burned within the candelabras and chandeliers, giving off only minimal mysterious light, enough to haunt. Flowing white aged tulle lurked at every window and passage way. And mixtures of black and orange ribbons and netting had been abundantly used throughout. All in all, the house looked gruesome and haunting. The Owens were very pleased with the outcome.

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The theme for costuming was the original "Monster Mash." All of the monsters of the great age of Hollywood would be on display. Even the man of a thousand faces had been invited, and everyone was anxious to find which character he would surprise them with. The gardens and pool area were covered in lights, and an eerie mist rose over the water.

A studio caterer had also been hired. Shipments of food started arriving early in the day. They had settled on masses of finger foods. Crimped sandwiches of pumpkins, cats, bats and ghosts, they were delightful. The hors d'oeuvre trays were packed with meats, cheeses, crackers, olives, and pickles. Fresh cold slaw, potato salad, macaroni salad and fruit salad were decorated in their fancy bowls, just good ole American food. Two punch bowls were filled with dry ice, one was a bourbon mixed punch, the other alcohol free for the teetotalers. And the wet bar was filled to capacity. A friendly bartender had been hired for the evening. The desserts were many, cakes, pies and cookies, again, all sporting Halloween design. Everything seemed perfect and in place.

Brett thought about dressing as a vampire, but realized there were others more suitable to play that part. The new foreign actor from Hungary seemed to make people cringe, not only with his voice, but his eyes were hypnotic. Madeline never felt at ease around him. But she realized he always added to the thrill of the macabre.

Madeline urged Brett to be the Latin Lover. Brett was really a very handsome man and most women were enamored of him. She didn't imagine it would take much to create the illusion of seduction. He would be perfect. Leave the werewolves and vampires to the actors who played them. Brett seemed satisfied especially when she brought home the costume. The wardrobe mistress had been happy to lend it to her.

Most of the actresses'…young or old never dressed in costume. The women were too superficial to wear the make-up of the monsters. They would come dressed in their most beautiful creations, and most carried decorative masks to match. Madeline decided she would dress as Brett's counterpart. She remembered the actress who had captured the Matador's heart. She bought a long black silk dress crowned with a v-neckline of diamonds. It was slit up the front to her thighs. She also bought a black wig to wear as the temptress. They would be a striking pair, she in the black and he in an exclusive golden matador costume, an original worn by the star during filming.

The house was large, they each had their own separate bedrooms but they never slept alone. Brett would always join her in the lovely satin room. The home had belonged to the siren, the sex goddess. They had been thrilled when they found the home and the secret room behind the closet. They knew what it had been used for and they had vigorously kept up the habit.

They had changed the bedroom, painted, patterned new draperies, had new carpeting installed, and added the lovely furniture, but the hideaway stayed the same. Brett only added the charming lounge, a place for him to voyeur. Brett loved to watch his wife dress and undress for him in the room of mirrors. She was seductive, she even danced for him. He was thoroughly obsessed when she danced Salome's dance of "the seven veils." She was so very beautiful. It was then he suggested the picture. He had always been a good artist; it had led to his architectural designing. Before and during college, he made a fairly good living on his caricatures, even several portraits in oils. He insisted on the steamy portrait, and she found she enjoyed poising in the nude. When it was finished it hung in her bedroom over the plaster fireplace.

As ever, she had dressed for him earlier in the evening. She had tempted him beyond reason, and he had taken her there on the couch. She had modeled the new dress, he was hard in an instant, removing the dress and positioning her on the lounge. It was something new, very intense, and she enjoyed it. When he was finished, she was breathless. But his hardness remained firm and he took her again and again. She looked at him and wondered about his sexual prowess.

"I tried something new."

"I don't understand."

"Just a few drops in my punch, you know a little Spanish Fly, its long lasting."

"I can see that." She touched him and he responded again.

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know and at this time I don't care, would you like to try some?"

"Do you think I need it?"

"After this afternoon, I think you need something."

Her eyes lowered, it had been a trying day, a glorious but trying day.

"I'd like to see how much better it is, if you take some also." He was massaging her; she wasn't sure if she needed it, but if he wanted…she would try it.

He left her for a brief moment. When he returned he held the flute in his hand.

"Here drink this; it makes you want to do extraordinary things."

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She touched the glass to her lips, tasted the fluid. He watched her and smiled. In a few minutes she wasn't sure if either of them would make the party.

Hours later the party was underway. Olivia looked lovely, as tempting as ever. Brett had to smile whenever she looked his way. He had worried about her, ever since Oliver Chadwick had come to visit a few hours before the party. She had been despondent, but now she looked as radiant as ever.

All he had to do was think of the room and the Spanish fly! He was going to make sure he kept a vast supply of the aphrodisiac. He could feel his hardness and wanted to slip away, but he realized that might not be appropriate, but then again? He touched her arm. She looked at him. She smiled and followed him up the stairs. They were in her room, he started taking off his clothes, she moved ahead through the closet to the waiting chamber. In his urgency he forgot about locking the bedroom door. He wasn't thinking about anything but his desire and what he was going to do with it.

He followed her through the closet and into their paradise. She was lowering her dress, her breasts were bare…full. He was all over her; they didn't hear anyone or anything. Twenty minutes later they were back downstairs and Leonard Goldstein was there. His livid eyes revealed his anger at not being invited.

Brett and Olivia could have cared less. They passed him by and went to the bar. "I think I need a drink, how about you?"

"I don't know why, but I feel very thirsty." She laughed.

"Good!" He was pouring her a drink of Jack Daniels and Coke. "What do you think?" He showed her the little vial.

"You've got to be kidding?"

"No, I'm not."

"Whatever tickles your fancy?" she proposed.

"You're the only thing that could ever tickle my fancy!"

"Then I'm thrilled. That is the one huge thing I love about you."

"And what might that be?"

"Your enormous fancy!" She smiled and he leaned into her and kissed her mouth. His tongue delved deep inside, so deep she felt it throughout her entire body. Her knees felt weak and her head was spinning.

He saw him, saw him out of the corner of his eye, he didn't give a damn. Leonard Goldstein could go to hell as far as he was concerned. The man was watching, waiting to see what Brett would do next. And Brett egged him on.

Brett put his hands on Olivia's derrière, running his nibble fingers up and down and then he squeezed tightly. Leo watched their steamy display. When he felt he had had enough, he turned and walked away. He didn't care that the female star standing next to him was urging him into a bit of fornication. Her hands were deep into Leo, she was bidding for the part in his new production. She had a look of indignation when he turned from her grasp. It was obvious he didn't give a crap about her or anyone else. His obsessions lie with Olivia Owen. He wanted her and he couldn't have her, ever again. No, he didn't care about anyone but Olivia and what Brett Owen was able to do with her and to her. Leo felt the heat flow through his body, his arousal had not been caused by the voluptuous star, only his darkened thoughts of the woman he couldn't have.

Brett also felt the heat flow through his body. But he could do something about it. He felt wonderful. He was elated that he alone was the recipient of Olivia Owen's love. And at this time, he wanted to reciprocate. Yes, his fancy was ready and willing.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. And Olivia had everything to be thankful for. She had just come from the doctor's office. She felt like she was walking on "cloud nine." She was pregnant. She couldn't wait to get to the studio and tell Brett. They had been on edge for the past two weeks, wondering was she or wasn't she. Well, she was. She knew Brett would be thrilled. This time she knew exactly who the father was and it wasn't Leonard Goldstein.

Olivia loved Brett with every ounce of her body. She knew that if she had kept the two little girls, he would have been a wonderful father to them. It had always been her decision to give them up, not Brett's. But again she did not want to look at them ever and see Leonard Goldstein. Now, she would only see Brett Owen in the child's eyes.

He had only to look at her to realize that they were expecting. She looked radiant. He rushed to her and kissed her.

"Come, tell me all about it."

Olivia followed him to his dressing room. He shut the door behind them.

"What did he say?" His voice held that thrill of excitement.

"The rabbit died!"

"That's wonderful news."

"Oh, how could you be so heartless," she teased. "It was only a poor little rabbit!"

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"Would you have it any other way?" "Of course not!" "Nor I," he kissed her again.

"Let's celebrate."

"Wherever you like."

"I say my favorite place."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You know tomorrows Turkey Day! He wants us at the mansion."

"No way, never again."

"Then we'll skip tomorrow, but I don't know about never again…remember his New Year's Party. I already told him we would be there."

"Oh, Brett, you didn't."

"I did. I thought I would be kind to the old goat, you know he can't hurt us ever again. And he wants to discuss the new movie."

"Why, I know he's not considering me for the part."

"Who said?"

"You know he has been feasting on that woman for the past few months."

"He may be feasting on her, but it is not her that he desires."

"He will never give me that part, and I'm not sure I want it."

"Why not, it's a great part and you'd be perfect for it."

"Thank you, but you're prejudice, Leo is not. He is still seething over the

Halloween Party."

"Well, if you're not going to play the lead, I won't accept his offer either."

"Don't do that on my account, you will do the part justice."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. All I want to do now is concentrate on the new little Owen."

"That's a good thing to concentrate on." He touched her breast. "How could they ever get much larger?" He smiled.

"I don't know, but for the first time, my child will nurture at my breast." She looked sad for a moment.

"Don't think about him. Like I said, he can't ever hurt us again, or our child."

"I'm not so sure about that, I don't trust Leo…ever!"

"Well, let's not think about it now. Let's just be happy." He leaned into her and kissed her. His hand fell to the softness of her womb. "I really can't believe it; I'm going to be a father."

"Believe it."

They met in their favorite place. He had the champagne and she the rest, she was naked and he was speechless.

"God, Olivia, you are beautiful!"

"You know why?"

"No, not just that, you have always been the most beautiful creature alive."

"I thank you kindly for that compliment."

"Here…" He handed her the glass. She studied him. "You didn't?" she questioned. "No, I know better," he answered.

"I just wanted to make sure."

"I always keep it here." He showed her the little vial. "But I know it will be several months before we can use it again."

"You realize it was probably your little fly that did the trick?" "You think so?" he teased.

"Most definitely…"

"I wasn't sure…really not the way to make babies."

"But we did."

"Do you think you will be able to stand the wait?"

"Brett, you have always turned me on, with or without the little fly."

"Come on, Olivia, admit it, you have never done those things before, now have you?"

She smiled her sweet little smile. "No, I guess, I never have."

"And I think you just might miss the thrill."

"Why, can't we keep up the tradition without it?"

"I don't know…it's up to you."

"I'm all for it."

"You like it don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Come here." He then turned her and leaned her over the satin. His eyes looked deep in the mirror; he watched her face, her eyes closed for a moment. Then her tongue moistened her lips. She opened her eyes and they looked at each other in the mirrors. He had the intense look of excitement. The feeling was incredible. She watched his every movement and he studied the look of ecstasy on her face.

Chapter 14

He wasn't sure what had happened. One minute he was testing the waters and the next an armed policeman stood over them.

"What the hell…"

"Get up and get dressed and that goes for your girlfriend too." Madeline looked dumbfounded. She grabbed for the sheet.

"Come on lady, I've seen it all before."

She took the sheet and wrapped it around her, leaving Alex to fend for himself. He just got up and pulled on his boxers. He sat on the side of the bed and thought about the situation. He then rose and pulled on his trousers. Madeline grabbed for her clothing and went to the bathroom. The officer didn't object. He had one of them in front of him; he knew the other wasn't going anywhere. He also knew another armed officer stood outside the door.

It seemed like a long ride back into Los Angeles. Alex didn't remember it being that long on the way out. The reality of their situation didn't hit until the squad car pulled up in front of the Los Angeles Police Station. They were ushered inside. The only thing missing was the press. He wondered why they had not been alerted.

They were seated in an interrogation room, a lieutenant sat in front of them, a detective stood against the wall. Alejandro had never ever found himself in this predicament before. He looked to Madeline, she looked scared to death.

"You realize why you are here, don't you, Mrs. Montoya?" the fat man, the lieutenant was questioning her.

"I don't think you have to answer that." Alex touched at her arm.

"And who do you think you are, Romeo, her counselor?"

"I'm just a friend."

"A friend, who likes his conjugal visits?"

"Just a friend."

"I suggest you shut your mouth and let the lady speak."

"Speaking of counselor, isn't that one of your rights here in America?"

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"And what might that be?"

"The right to an attorney?"

"And do you think you need an attorney, Mrs. Montoya?" She didn't answer.

"Yes, she needs an attorney," Alex said staring at the officer.

"It's your nickel."

Madeline had no idea who to call. Alex suggested calling Oliver. He would know a good attorney. She did as Alex told her and called her father. In less than an hour the man was there sitting beside her. He had talked with her and he accepted her as a client.

"Now, what is it you are holding Mrs. Montoya for?" the counselor questioned the officer.

"Questioning in regard to the Bennington murder?"

"And what does she have to do with this?" the counselor continued. Alejandro looked at the attorney. Sloan Sotherby was a very good looking, distinguished man, he was in his middle fifties, tall, thin and had a head full of rich brown hair. His blue eyes were intent. Alejandro imagined he didn't let much get by him. He also realized this man didn't come cheap. His suit was impeccable, a blue pin striped; his tie and pocket handkerchief matched and his shoes were spit polished.

"It was her house," the officer spoke up, but he must have also realized Madeline had retained the best.

"And what about her husband, doesn't he live there also?" Both Madeline and Alex knew the answer to that question but neither spoke. Sloan was now questioning the officers and they didn't much like it.

"Yes, but he has a valid alibi."

"An alibi and what might his alibi be?"

"Leonard Goldstein."

Alex touched the attorney on the arm and whispered something to him.

Sotherby turned and whispered back. And then Alejandro Vivanco spoke up. "Well, I'm Mrs. Montoya's alibi!" Alex' words shocked even Madeline.

"You…?" The lieutenant was obviously upset, something he didn't expect. The detective standing against the wall stood up and took full notice of the situation. The detective had been chewing on a toothpick. He let it fall to the floor. His dark eyes flashed, he grit his teeth, and stepped forward… Alejandro Vivanco was lying through his teeth.

"Yes!" Alejandro stood his ground…more defiant than ever. It was just like fighting the bull, which one could outstare and outwit the other.

"You would be willing to swear to that in a court of law?" the detective asked.

"Yes!"

"And just what are you willing to swear to?" the lieutenant popped in.

The man was sweating, almost as if he were being interrogated.

Sloan Sotherby turned and whispered again in Alex' ear.

"Mrs. Montoya was with me the entire night," Alex boasted.

"You don't say?"

"I do say. In fact she has been with me since the Goldstein's party."

"And you never left her side?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

"Do you think you would ever leave her side, if you were me?"

The officer thought about it, he knew he was being had, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Why didn't you come forward before?" It was the detective now.

"Come forward about what?" Alex answered.

"Don't be an ass…about the murder! What in the hell do you think we have been talking about?" The fat man was feeling the strain.

"I didn't know about the murder."

"You didn't know about the murder, it's been in all the newspapers."

"I don't read the papers."

"Don't give me that crap." His voice registered his anger.

"The fact is that Mrs. Montoya and I left the party and went to San Bernardino, we have been together since. No papers, no one but us."

"And how did you get there…fly? There was no car at the house…none that we found.

"My chauffeur took us."

"Your chauffeur? Now isn't that convenient. And why do you suppose

'your chauffeur' didn't inform us you were there?"

"I told him I didn't want to be disturbed, and he knew I meant business."

The detective moved in near the lieutenant…"You're going to sit there and let this 'spic' give us this pile of horse manure?" His words directed to his superior, but clearly meant to spark a reaction in the Spaniard.

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Alex didn't respond. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. Alex looked at the officer. The officer smiled, egging him on, he had certainly thought, hoped the detective's words would get a rise out of Vivanco, but Alex remained calm. The attorney touched his arm.

"Well, lieutenant, I don't think Mrs. Montoya has any more to add. I'm sure you are willing to release her now." Sloan looked straight in the man's eyes; let him stew for a moment.

A slew of profanities flew from the officer's mouth.

"I'm sure you also realize there is a lady present?" Sotherby's chastisement only raised the man's ire.

"Go on; get the hell out of here."

"I'm glad you realize the futility in this matter." Sloan would get in the last word after all.

Alex rose along with the attorney. Madeline looked up at her Matador. She had never uttered a word. He put out his hand and she took it. They were outside and Oliver was waiting with the limo. He opened the door for them and they got inside. Sotherby spoke to Oliver and then left. Oliver got back inside the car.

"He's a good man," Alex stated.

"He's the best!"

"That's what I thought."

"He represented Brett Owen."

"He represented Owen?" Alex looked at Oliver.

"Yes. And he never loses."

"Thank you for coming to my rescue," Madeline uttered.

Oliver looked back. "I think you should thank Alex for that."

Madeline turned to Alejandro, tears springing to her eyes. "Thank you, Alex, but you shouldn't have lied." He reached for her hand and held it tightly in his, then spoke to Oliver.

"How do you think they found out where we were?"

"I would hate to imagine."

"My senses lead to Leonard Goldstein."

"You know I will probably lose my job?" Oliver realized what Leo would do when he found out about Madeline and Alex.

"I don't think so." His words caught them off guard. "It's simple if they want me, Oliver stays." Alex had spoken and Madeline started to cry.

"Where to?" Oliver asked.

"I can't go back to Ricardo's place." "You don't have to; we'll stay at my house." Alex smiled… "You think that's a good idea?" Oliver questioned. "As long as I am welcome in that home, Madeline is." She leaned into him and touched his arm.

Chapter 15

The look that Elsa gave him when he entered with Madeline was enough to know that it was time to send her packing. He asked Madeline to wait for him in the great room. He then ushered the maid into the study. When he was finished with her, she left in a hurry. She had also informed him that Mr. Goldstein would not be happy with Alejandro's decision. He told her to… well he just told her. He also told her he would not be needing the cook any longer either, and to make that known to Mr. Goldstein! He then went back to Madeline. He walked to the French doors of glass and opened them.

"Come here," he requested of her.

Madeline walked toward him. He took her out by the pool and they sat in the large lounge chairs. They sat there until Alex was assured he saw Elsa leave.

"Come on, there is something I would like to show you."

She rose and followed him through the house. Madeline looked around at the beauty of the home.

"I don't know why, but this house looks so familiar," she stated. She was walking around the baby grand and stopped to look at the pictures on the top, she touched her fingers on the lace fringe covering the piano.

"It's extraordinary."

"You know, your father used to drive for the man that owned this house?"

"Brett Owen?"

"Yes. Did you ever meet him?"

"I'm not sure, but something seems to spark a memory."

"You know his wife, Olivia?"

"I don't think so, why?"

"No reason, come on…"

He held her arm as they climbed the stairs. He touched at the door and it opened. Her eyes came alive as she ventured inside.

"It's lovely."

"Yes, it is."

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"Is this your room?"

"No. I'm down the hall."

"I thought this a little too frivolous for you."

"Frivolous or something else?"

"I didn't want to suggest…"

"No, I think you know the answer to that."

Yes, Madeline knew the answer to that. She walked further into the room. Everything looked vaguely familiar. Her hands touched at the cream colored doors, they opened and she stepped inside. She touched at the furs, the dresses and her eyes fell on one in particular, the black silk with the diamond neckline. She touched at it and pulled it from the others. She studied the dress.

"What?" he questioned her.

"Why does this look so familiar?"

"I don't know, maybe she wore it in one of her movies." "Maybe…" she answered.

She touched it softly and held it up to her; it was so very lovely… sensuous.

"I want to show you something else." He walked ahead through the closet. Madeline looked strange. She wanted to follow but she couldn't.

"What?" he asked…looking at her timidity.

"I don't know, I just feel like a thief in the night."

"It's all right. I want you to see something."

She followed slowly, still not wanting to go with him. There was something inside of her that told her she should not be here.

Alex went to the door of mirrors and opened it slowly. Madeline stepped forward, frightened of what she would find on the other side. Alex took her hand and pulled her into the room. He shut the door behind them. Madeline stood there looking all around, no way in and no way out, a room of mirrors. She then looked to the lounge. She understood in a moment the meaning and use of this room.

"I think I have dreamed of you here," he exclaimed. "I think I have thought of nothing else since that dream."

"You want me to…"

"Yes, I do."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Please, let me help you." He took the black silk from her hands and led her near the sofa. He sat down in front of her. "Please." His words were soft and enticing. She did as he asked. Her hands trembled but she started at the top. When her breasts were bare he motioned her nearer him. She moved. He touched her and tasted her and then asked for more. When she had completed all he asked her to do she let him lay her on the lounge and take her. He groaned in shear agony. He felt sure he had never felt this before. The room seemed to spark his desire. Several times he entered her and felt the greatest pleasure ever. He wasn't sure if he could ever please her like this, but he was certainly willing to try.

Later when they lay in his bed she turned to him.

"You dreamed me there…in that room?"

"Yes."

"And you dreamed doing that to me?"

"Yes, I did. I have thought about nothing else."

"Did I please you?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm happy."

He thought about her words for a moment…thinking of her intention.

"Madeline, you don't owe me anything. Do you really think that is why

I brought you here?"

"I don't know."

"No, you must know."

"I'm not sure of anything."

"You honestly believe I brought you here because I think you owe me something?"

"You lied, didn't you?"

"I lied, but you do not owe me anything."

"When you left me that first night…" Her voice faltered and she couldn't continue. He realized her sadness.

"I'm sorry, I should never have left." "But you did…"

"I said I'm sorry, isn't that enough?"

She waited for a few seconds and then continued…

"When you left me, I thought I would die. I had never ever…"

"I know…"

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"Then why did you leave?"

"I was worried someone would find out…your reputation, I couldn't hurt you like that."

"You couldn't hurt me like that…"

"No!"

"Wasn't it because you were worried I would never let you go?"

"No, that is the last thought on my mind."

"What do you think now?"

"About what?"

"About me never wanting to let you go?"

"Is that how you feel?"

"I told you that night."

"What did you tell me, Madeline?"

"I asked you if you were the man I had waited for?"

"And am I that man?"

"Are you?"

"Is that who you want me to be?"

"Yes."

He took her into his arms and gently kissed her lips.

"I want to be that man, Madeline. I love you."

Above all else that night, he wanted Madeline to know the truth. He had never felt this way about another living soul. He realized that he had never loved anyone like this before…no one!

Leonard Goldstein was furious. Madeline was staying at the Owen home, how had this ever happened? And as if that weren't enough, Alejandro Vivanco had fired Elsa! Elsa…Goldstein's little co hort. She had always proven to be so apt in her acting and her seduction. How had Alejandro failed to fall for her charm?

Leonard had given her specific instructions on how to deal with the Matador. He had also furnished her with the key to Alex' room. She had been able to go in and out at her discretion. Leonard knew that every man needed female attention. He had been furnishing that attention to his friends and associates for many years. He had a stable of starlets ready to do his bidding and Elsa was the best. She had been asked to keep a watchful eye out on Vivanco and she had done just that. But she had failed to bed him.

With Elsa out of the house, Leo wasn't sure what he was going to do. Elsa had been out maneuvered by the best, Madeline Montoya. Madeline, his sweet, innocent little girl was giving pleasure to someone else. Leonard was about ready to have a heart attack. All of the sudden she reminded him of someone else. That thought sickened him. He thought about what had happened when Olivia had rejected him. He had sworn that would never happen again.

He had let Ricardo marry Madeline. He had given the ultimate sacrifice, but that was only to save Ricardo. If the world ever found out about Montoya's sexual preference the studio would be in ruins. Madeline had been sent like a lamb to the slaughter. But Ricardo had disappointed Goldstein. He couldn't get it up, not even long enough to make a woman out of Madeline. Just as well, that would be Leonard's job. He had been toying with the idea since she came back from college.

She was beautiful. It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her. But he knew that the way to her heart was through acting. He had offered her the contract; she had proven to be quite good. In fact he was thinking of starring her in his new movie. The part was perfect for her…"the virgin queen." It was that thought that delighted him the most. She was still a virgin. That is until last week.

When Elsa had informed him that his stunt man, Alejandro Vivanco, had not returned home after a few nights of escorting Mrs. Montoya, Leo's heart had dropped. He thought perhaps it was just coincidence, but when he saw Vivanco on the stairs that night, he realized that Madeline had succumbed to the Matador. Of course, he blamed Ricardo. If Ricardo could only keep it up with the ladies instead of that little queer, Roger Bennington, all their problems wouldn't be problems at all. He thought of Elsa, thought of her performances in bed. She had always done her job; she was the best at those jobs. Damn, couldn't that blasted whore do anything right?

So now, exactly, what was he going to do? He would have to think about it. Was he willing to let Madeline go? He wasn't sure. He then thought of Vivanco. He was truly a man's man. Not at all like Ricardo Montoya. Hell, the women loved Ricardo, he looked the part, and acted the part, but could he keep acting the part? Montoya is the key to the whole plan. Leo thought about the plan. The movie was sure to be a success. Every woman in the world would fall for the Matador…that was a sure thing. But which Matador would give the best performance on and off the stage? Leo had to think about that.

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For the moment being he would agree to let Alejandro stay where he was. He would let Madeline stay there also, that is until he decided exactly what he was going to do with the Matador. He then realized that Oliver Chadwick might just have deceived him, in more ways than one. And there was obviously more ways than one, to skin a cat. Madeline would fight to the death for her father. Maybe, he did hold the upper card. He then picked up the phone and placed the call to Oliver.

Chapter 16

He hadn't expected to dream the dream again. But there it was deep in his subconscious. She was there in the green dress. She was beautiful. She started to undress, but something was not right. He saw the figure from the door, a darkened creature. His thoughts turned to one of the horror movies he had seen many years previous. She leaned into him and kissed him, his attention was torn between her touch or the monster at the door. He gave into the beauty of the flesh.

He heard her scream. He saw her eyes. He saw her terror. The next thing he knew she was lying on the floor. She was naked, the marks on her neck were clear. She was dead. She had been strangled.

His eyes flashed open. He was back in his room. He was safe. He felt her warmth and turned. She was there beside him. He heaved a sigh of relief and rose from the bed. He went to the bathroom. He felt like heaving his guts out, but he sat down on the commode and put his head down on his hands.

"What's wrong?" She was standing near him, touching him and then she dropped to the floor and looked at his face.

"Are you ill?"

"No." But his words weren't that reassuring. She looked at him again, his face was drawn. He almost looked like he was going to faint.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

"Just a cramp in my leg." That was sufficient for her. She looked relieved, but sad for him.

"Can I get you something?"

"What?"

"What would you like or need?"

"Do you have any codeine?"

"No, but Oliver does, he always keeps it. Let me call him."

"I don't want to disturb him now."

"Let me look in the medicine cabinet." She stood and went to the sink and opened the small cabinet. "There's Bayer, will that do?"

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"Anything? Please?"

She took out three pills and handed them to him. She picked up the small crystal glass next to the sink and ran the cold water. She filled the cup and handed it to him. He downed the pills.

"Come; let me get you back to bed."

"Thank you." He looked at her. He didn't want to move, but he rose and followed her back into the bedroom. She helped him into the bed and pulled the covers over him. She went around to the other side and climbed in next to him. She cuddled up and placed her hand on his forehead…he was burning up.

"You've got a fever, are you sick?"

"I never get sick." He remembered his famous words.

"I think you are getting the flu."

He didn't want to think about illness. He closed his eyes, he would be much better in the morning. She lay close to him, holding him. She wanted to make him well. But in the morning he was feeling his first bout of influenza. For the first time he didn't feel like rising. He didn't feel like doing anything. He lay in bed and she cared for him. She called Oliver and he brought her exactly what she asked for.

She made homemade chicken broth for him and gave him a hot toddy. Oliver also brought some codeine. By the end of the day, he was feeling much better.

Two days later he was back on the set with Ricardo Montoya. Montoya eyed him suspiciously. He had been informed his wife was now sleeping with the other Matador. He had also been told that Madeline had been provided an excellent alibi through that Matador. Ricardo did not believe it. He knew Madeline had killed Roger, he just wasn't sure why.

Alejandro did his job. He did it to the best of his ability. His ability was much better than Ricardo's. Leonard Goldstein kept good tabs on each man. He was informed that Montoya's acting could never reach that of the Matador from Mexico. Leo planned his strategy.

Alex went home that first night. Madeline was lounging by the pool. She looked content and at home. He waved to her and went to shower and change clothes. He had a very strange feeling as he passed the room of chartreuse. He wanted to open it, but couldn't. He went to his room. He sat on the bed and started to remove his shoes. He looked to the nightstand.

The book was there within his reach. He picked it up; he hoped Madeline hadn't seen it. He did not want her upset about the ghostly legends there inside the pages. He took the book and put it in the lower drawer of the night stand. And then he thought about the page…one hundred and four. He thought about the words written at the top of that page…"The Haunting of Olivia Owen!" It had all been there in black and white. There was even a picture of Olivia. The book was captured as "Haunting Tales of the Rich and Famous, Hollywood Famous." Olivia Owen's story was there on page one hundred and four and it would be there forever.

He decided he needed a swim. He took off all of his clothing, put on his robe and walked back downstairs. She looked at him and smiled. He went to her, then leaned down and kissed her. And then he went to the side of the pool and dropped his robe. She looked at his body. He was gorgeous. He was so golden, and she felt the sweet desire deep down in her body. She noticed that he walked with a limp for the last few days. She had somehow overlooked it before. But it was there, even though he fought hard to hide it.

He dove into the warm water. He swam his laps and then looked at Madeline Montoya. It was then that he got the idea; he wanted to take a visit to that man.

Alex had asked Oliver to make the call. He didn't want to alert Madeline. Oliver had done as requested. He had called Sloan Sotherby, Madeline's attorney. He had told Mr. Sotherby exactly what Alex wanted, and Sotherby had told Oliver he would make all the necessary arrangements.

One week later Oliver took Alex on the long drive up the coast. The place was quite different than Alex had imagined. He had never been inside a prison. He was checked, inspected and taken to a waiting room. Sotherby had done his job well. It would be just the two of them. Not even Oliver was allowed in. Alex wanted to talk with the man alone. He wanted to hear his story. Something was not right and maybe Mr. Ledford would or could shed some light into the murder of Olivia Owen.

Ledford was expecting a guest; he just didn't quite know what to do when the Spaniard arrived. He noted that Alex was nice looking, in his late twenties, but did not understand what he had in mind. "My name is Alejandro Vivianco, Mr. Ledford."

"Do I know you?"

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"No, I live in the home of the late Brett Owen."

"Oh, I see."

"Exactly what do you see or what did you see?"

"Well, I can tell you, that contrary to what you have been led to believe,

I did not kill Olivia Owen. There, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes."

"What!" Ledford could not believe what he was hearing.

"You believe me?" Ledford questioned.

"I think I do."

"Then you are the only one."

"Can you tell me anything about that night?"

"Mr. Vivanco…is it?"

"Call me Alex."

"Well, Alex what is it you would like me to tell you."

"Were you there that night?"

"No!"

"No?"

"I was there earlier in the day. I made my usual rounds, but when I got there, Olivia, Mrs. Owen brought me a check and told me my services were not needed that day. She felt sorry she had not called me ahead of time; she said I could come back after the holiday. She felt bad she had wasted my valuable time. That was a first, my time valuable but that is why I liked her."

"You liked her?"

"No, not that way."

"But why didn't she just let you do your job?"

"She said it was New Year's Eve…that everyone should be celebrating. She handed me the check, she included a $100.00 gift for the New Year. I was stunned. I thanked her and left."

"And you never went back?"

"No."

"But they say…"

"I know what they say and they are wrong. I never killed Mrs. Owen."

"Do you think her husband killed her?"

"I don't know. I do know that he loved her. They were very happy. I never heard a cross word from either one of them. No, I don't think Brett Owen killed his wife."

"Then who do you think did it, and why did the blame fall on you?"

"I don't know who did it. But the studio did the cover up, they had to find someone to take the fall and they picked the gardener."

"Who was your attorney?"

"I didn't have one, I couldn't afford one. I was offered the Public Defender. He might as well have never been there. He was useless. He certainly didn't care, just as long as someone represented me."

"What was his name?"

"Dennis Saunders, I will never forget that name, he is now the District

Attorney."

"Dennis Saunders?"

"Yes. I am sure Leonard Goldstein paid him to lose the case."

"Why would Goldstein do that?"

"Why, if I was convicted…Brett Owen would go free. The studio was protected. Brett went on to do a few more good pictures I've been told, not many though; I don't think he ever recovered from her death." "Never?"

Ledford shook his head.

"How do you know?"

"I have my sources."

"And just what have your sources told you?"

"That Brett Owen was a broken man, that's why I suspect he didn't kill her."

"You know he died?"

"I heard something about it."

"You know they also claim the house is haunted."

"Haunted?"

"Yes, by Olivia's ghost."

"Olivia?" Ledford studied Alejandro's eyes, was he serious?

"Yes, do you believe that?" Alejandro asked him.

"I'm not sure I believe in ghosts."

"Well, they say that Brett lived on there for a few years and then moved. The studio maintained the house. Goldstein tried to rent it out…no one ever stayed."

"I assume they saw her ghost?" Ledford asked. "Yes."

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"Do you believe that Mr. Vivanco?" Alex looked straight into Ledford's eyes when he answered…

"Yes, I do."

"What would make you believe that?" "Because I've seen her!"

Hours later Alex and Oliver enjoyed lunch at the Casa Grande.

"What did he tell you?"

"Not much, he states he didn't kill her."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then who?"

"I don't know. But I don't think Ledford is a killer."

"Sad…" Oliver looked down for a moment. He was obviously upset…

"What?"

"That he rots away in jail for a crime he didn't commit."

"Yes, that's the way I see it." Alejandro took a sip of his beer and true that is the way he saw it. Hartman Ledford had been railroaded, framed for a crime he didn't commit.

"Oliver."

"Yes."

"Who do you think would stand to gain from Olivia's death?"

"I don't know."

"What about Goldstein?"

"I guess. I never really thought about it."

"Oliver."

"Yes, Alex."

"Did you know that Dennis Saunders, your District Attorney, was Ledford's Public Defender?"

"I think I read about it, I almost forgot."

"Do you think he's dirty?"

"No dirtier than the rest of them."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No!"

"And Oliver…"

"What…"

"Please don't say anything to Madeline about the house being haunted."

"I never have."

"Did she ever visit there as a child?"

"She might have, why do you ask?"

"She said the place looks familiar. I just thought that since you drove for the studio that maybe you might have picked up the Owens at one time or another."

"I did."

"And did you ever take Madeline?"

"That would be against Mr. Goldstein's rules."

"I don't give a damn about his rules, did she ever go?"

"She might have, I really can't remember. She did like to ride in the limo. I usually only took her on my free days."

"That means she could have been at the Owen house at one time or another."

"I suppose…"

"Thank you, Oliver."

"For what?"

"For giving me a solution."

"A solution?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do either. But enough talking for the day, let's eat."

"That's fine with me." Oliver smiled and drank the cool ale, picked up a taco and relaxed in the cool atmosphere of the cantina.

She was glad he was back. She was standing at the window when she saw the car drive up. She watched Oliver come around and open the door for Alejandro. She stood there for a moment and then had an idea. She went through the doors.

"Madeline…"

There was no answer. His leg ached, he started up the stairs. He had looked in the great room. He had looked at the pool. She was nowhere in sight. He had a difficult time climbing. He needed exercise, he needed a good massage. He started to pass the room. He had taken several steps when he retreated and opened the door. The room was empty. He looked to the bed and then to 114

the window. He thought for a moment and crossed the floor to the doors. He paused, and then opened them.

The closet was empty, undisturbed, only the lovely clothing of another era. He was going to close the doors but had the inclination to go in search. He walked slowly, remembering that first night. He touched at the door and it opened. He stepped inside and then he got the shock of his life. There she was Olivia Owen, standing in her green dress, her hair falling down around her face. She smiled at him, the ghastly, ghostly smile of the dead; he trembled and turned to flee.

"Alex…"

He heard his name…heard her…

"Alex…"

He turned, the vision vanished. It was Madeline standing there.

"What's the matter, you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you see me?"

"I don't know what I saw."

"I thought you might enjoy…" She couldn't finish before he answered.

"Oh…"

She felt his reserve. "You're not interested?"

"I'm always interested." He looked at her. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He wasn't sure about anything. But he knew what he saw, it wasn't Madeline. But it was Madeline now. She came to him and led him to the lounge. She felt his body, felt his trembling. She mistook it for something else. She smiled and gently pushed him down. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. He wasn't sure he could please her at this time. But she leaned down and kissed his lips and then she dropped down in front of him. He looked at her. She was beautiful.

"Madeline…I don't…"

"Just relax…please."

He did just that. He relaxed and watched her there in the mirror. He watched her in all of them. She took his breath away.

Chapter 17

Goldstein had requested they join him for dinner. Madeline wasn't sure, but Alex suggested they go. Montoya would not be there, just Leo and the two of them. He had made reservations at Ciro's.

"But what will I wear?"

Oliver had been kind enough to go to the house and retrieve much of her wardrobe. The maid had been kind enough to help him. There were a few evening dresses, but Madeline didn't want to wear any of them.

"Why don't you wear one of Olivia's?" He had said it without thinking.

"Are you serious?"

"I wasn't, but why don't you look."

"You don't think they are outdated?"

"Then go buy something, Oliver will take you."

"You don't mind?"

"No, I'll take a swim."

She kissed him goodbye and left. Two hours later she was back. Oliver placed several boxes on the chair. She thanked him and he left the two of them alone. Alex noticed that Oliver had not been looking well. He wondered if Goldstein had somehow upset him. He would have to talk with him later.

She had bought a paper. She wanted to read the headlines. The police had no clues to Roger's slaying. They had never found the murder weapon. They had no leads. Madeline wondered about the dagger, she knew exactly who the dagger belonged to. She had seen it many times. She realized that Alex thought she had done the deed. She would never tell him any different. He would never believe her if she did. He had it set in his mind and that is all that mattered. He had come to her rescue. She loved him for it. In fact, she had never been happier in her life.

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She thought about her life. She had been pampered, spoiled. They were not by any means rich, just comfortable. She had been impressed, her father worked for a movie studio. She didn't mind that he was only a chauffeur; he was always around the stars. He would let her sit in the car, she would dream she was a great movie star; she couldn't wait till that day.

She remembered her mother. Her mother never wanted her to follow that path. She seemed to think that it would be Madeline's downfall. Her parents had tried to sway her away from that life. They had made sure she had a good scholarship, away from Hollywood, away from Leonard Goldstein. At the time she wondered why. Leonard Goldstein was the head of the studio. He could make or break an actor. She was sure that he would help her.

She came home from college. She knew what she wanted to do. She didn't need her parent's permission. She made the appointment with Goldstein. She informed the secretary she was Oliver Chadwick's daughter and to please ask Mr. Goldstein if he would see her, if only for a brief meeting. Goldstein had balked at the request. And then he thought about it. He owed Oliver a favor. He relented and was he ever in shock when Madeline Chadwick appeared in his office. He wanted her then and there. He promised her the world, he promised her a contract. He gave her everything he promised. He only wanted one thing in return. He could wait to get that.

And then Ricardo made the foolish mistake of meeting with Roger Bennington. One of Leo's staff members had seen them on the set. It was more than just a friendship. Ricardo had touched him inappropriately. And Johnny Rocket had reported back to Goldstein. Johnny Rocket that is what he was called, faster than a speeding bullet. He could get to Leo faster than any gossip columnist. It was his duty and he did it well. Leo Goldstein almost came unglued. He would have to offer up the token virgin. It almost broke his heart…almost! He was never unwilling to sacrifice anyone or anything. Madeline was thrown to Ricardo.

Ricardo Montoya was a great star, she was enamored by him. All her friends would be so envious. Goldstein led her to believe that Ricardo wanted to date her and she was elated. Ricardo came to her apartment. He took her to the finest restaurants, clubs; he wooed her in the best way he knew how. She was very naïve. She thought he adored her, loved her. They dated for six months before Leo commanded Ricardo to marry her. Madeline thought he was just being a gentleman. That excited her more than anything else. He had kissed her. She was thrilled. Not that his kisses were that exciting, but he was Ricardo Montoya. She had looked at him, was he the man that she had waited for?

All her life she had been driven with the idea that there was a certain man waiting out there someplace, one that would look at her and her at him. They would know in that split second that they were meant for each other. It might sound like a fairytale to some, but Madeline knew and the man she would someday come to love would know. She studied Ricardo…was he the man? She wondered why he didn't look at her in the same way; maybe he was under too much pressure from the studio. But he seemed affectionate enough and then he made his proposal.

Madeline thought she should hear bells, fireworks going off. But that didn't happen. But he was Ricardo Montoya; she must not being doing something right. Every woman in the world heard those bells, saw those fireworks when they looked at him. She must certainly be an oddball.

The next thing she knew, she was on the plane with him flying to Mexico. She had bought the beautiful white negligee for this very night. She was sure those fireworks would spark when he saw her. She had certainly been disappointed. Somehow it didn't come as a shock to her when Ricardo told her his problem. If that is what one might call it, a problem? To him it was his way of life. Oh, if she had only known.

Madeline Montoya was an innocent but she was not stupid. She had heard stories of men in the business. She would have never suspected Ricardo; he was not the type that loved men. She was certainly wrong. She learned much in the next few days. She would put up a good front. She did not want her father to find out. That is the last thing she wanted. He had just buried her mother. She saw how much her mother's illness and death had aged him. Oliver Chadwick was never the same after Margaret's death. Madeline was happy that Leonard kept him driving. If he lost that, she knew that would be the end of Oliver. She would do anything Leonard asked to keep her father busy and gainfully employed by the studio.

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Madeline had been very kind to Ricardo. She never told anyone. She acted the role of the perfect wife. She knew that Leo knew and she suspected he had arranged the whole sham. She never let on to him. She learned to despise him for what he had done. She turned her head. Ricardo spent every waking and sleeping hour with his love. He met with her on the set…a good facade for Leonard Goldstein. At the end of the day he was gone. She went home to an empty home. The negligee was packed away; she never expected to use it. She knew she would spend the rest of her life with Ricardo. She could never divorce him. She found she cried herself to sleep on many nights. The Prince Charming she had waited for had never come, that is until that day in Leonard's office. She had looked at Alejandro Vivanco. She had known from the moment she saw him. She would have stayed away from him, but Ricardo threw her to him and Alex caught her.

The day when she ended up going to bed with him, she had been cautious, but he was there, and she knew he was the one. His touch and his kiss set her body on fire. And then he had discovered her secret and he had loved her. She had fallen asleep thinking her nightmare was over. She had at last found the man she would love forever. But then she awoke and the nightmare started all over.

She had not intended to overdose. She only wanted to sleep. She was not used to drink or to drugs. She had only taken a few pills, but they were strong enough to do the job. When he found her she was almost gone. He had come at the right time. He had saved her, and then he had stayed with her. When she awoke in the morning, he was there. She felt nothing but embarrassment. She had left and gone to her old apartment.

Then Ricardo had come looking for her, they were to be at the Goldstein Party. She put on her best dress, and her best face. She knew he would be there. She just wasn't prepared for his sympathy. When she saw him on the stairs, her heart fell. And then he had kissed her. What in the world was she going to do? She had run down the stairs. She saw Goldstein and Ricardo, she knew they were waiting, at least Leo. She turned and ran the other way. She ran into the ballroom. And then she lost it.

What happened after that would remain just as much a mystery to her as to everyone else. She remembered going outside, trying to avoid Goldstein. She drank too many glasses of champagne. She had wanted to get drunk, and she had done just that. Again, she had never touched liquor before; she couldn't even remember getting home. That is when she saw him; at least that is what she remembered…Roger Bennington! He was walking toward her, and then he stumbled and fell. She went to him, she saw the blood, the dagger and then she couldn't remember anything else.

Madeline looked at herself in the mirror. She thought she liked the dress, but after studying herself she thought differently. She was angry, upset. She did not want to spend the evening with Leonard Goldstein. She tore at the dress, and then she ran down the hall to the chartreuse room. She walked in and threw open the doors. She then began her search.

Alejandro looked at her as she came down the stairs. She had taken her time in the bathroom. He had dressed and come down to get a drink. He needed some brandy. He was sitting in the study reading the papers she had brought home. He wondered why she had bought them. They were filled with stories of Roger Bennington. He had been waiting at least twenty minutes for her. And then there she was.

All he could do was think of Olivia Owen. This certainly could not be the dress Madeline had gone to purchase. He knew this dress. It had been in his thoughts, his dreams for the last few weeks. How had she come by it? She watched him. She knew he looked perplexed. She just wasn't sure why. She had found the dress buried in the back of the closet. It was beautiful, a chartreuse green, the color of the bedroom. It was almost the same color of the dress she had worn to Ciro's that first night. But this was a rare silk. It was cut low to the waist. It was also backless. Two leaves of the silk material rose over each breast, joining at the neck. It fit her perfectly. She had brushed her hair up on top of her head, she looked stunning.

Alex thought he saw Oliver's jaw drop when he saw her. He saw the color drain from his face. So Oliver too had seen Olivia's ghost. But as pale as Oliver looked, nothing would compare to the look on Leonard Goldstein's face when Madeline walked into Ciro's. Alex thought Leo was going to keel over. Whatever they were going to discuss that night was shoved to the back burner. Leonard never got around to saying a word. He got up and left, he couldn't make it to the door fast enough.

Madeline just smiled. She couldn't have been happier. In fact, she looked almost thrilled that Goldstein was gone. Alex had never seen her quite like this. Her personality changed almost immediately. She asked him to dance. She almost pulled him to the floor. He put his arm around her, but obviously not close enough, she moved in and held him as if she never wanted to let him go.

"Madeline…"

She did not answer.

"Madeline…"

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She turned and looked at him, not really at him, but through him. He realized she was someplace else. She moved slowly through the room. She went to the bar, she poured the drink. Alex just watched her. She lifted the drink to her mouth. She drank the whole glass of brandy and set it back down. She turned and walked toward him. She did not look at him, she walked to the stairs. She was climbing before he realized that she did not know where she was. She was sleepwalking. He was afraid to call her again.

He watched as she climbed up to the top, and then he followed her back up. She did not go to his room. She stopped and opened the door to Olivia's room. She went to the closet doors and opened them. She walked through to the room of mirrors. She stopped for a moment contemplating on opening the secret door. And then she turned the knob and walked inside. The room was dark. She walked toward the lounge; he didn't take his eyes off of her. She must have felt his presence because she turned and looked at him and then she screamed…a blood curdling scream. He walked toward her, and then she fainted.

"What happened?" she questioned him. He had picked her up and brought her back to his room. She was in his bed. She had just come around.

"You don't remember?"

"I can't remember anything."

"You don't remember going to Ciro's, do you?"

"I remember walking down the stairs, and I remember going to the club, but I can't remember anything else."

"You don't remember seeing Goldstein?"

"No, was he there?"

"Yes."

"Alex, I can't remember…did I drink too much?"

"You didn't drink anything."

"I don't understand."

"Madeline, why did you wear that dress?"

"What dress?"

"The dress you found in Olivia's closet."

"I don't know. I just remember the new dress didn't look right. And then I was in Olivia's room, going through her things. Honestly, I just picked any dress."

"No, I don't think it was just any dress."

"What do you mean?"

"Go to sleep, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"I don't know why I'm so tired."

"I am too." He kissed her goodnight and turned off the light. But he didn't go to sleep. He lay there and thought about the dress, about Madeline and the room of mirrors. What had she seen there? Why had she screamed? Why had she fainted?

They had come home in the limo. She had been most affectionate all night. Not like Madeline, well at least not in public. She had come on to him all evening. They had eaten dinner and danced. She was so happy and then Oliver had brought them home. They had climbed the stairs and gone to bed. She had appeared overly exhausted. And then he had been awakened by something. Madeline was not there. He went in search and found her downstairs in the great room. She was looking out at the pool. And then when he had called her name she wouldn't answer, she just went to the bar and fixed the drink. She never said a word. She never acknowledged he was there.

He couldn't sleep much after that. He was worried she might leave again. She obviously didn't know she was sleepwalking. He wondered if she had ever done that before. He would have to ask Oliver. He tried to stay awake, but around four a.m. he drifted off.

Chapter 18

The tree was enormous. It filled the entire bay window of the great room. He had stopped to buy more ornaments and lights…he hoped his selection would meet with her approval. Brett had purposely picked it out; he decided that this year was one of celebration. This year would be the start of a wonderful Christmas tradition, the biggest most wonderful tree that he would ever find, each and every year henceforward. He wasn't exactly sure though if he could ever top this one. He was ecstatic with the thoughts of the following year; Christmas 1923 would be the best ever. There would be a new baby. But for now he was content that this was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. He didn't mind spending a fortune on it or the baubles and lights that adorned it.

He stood in awe when the lights were lit.

Olivia was at the studio, last minute call backs. He had wanted to surprise her. He put the last of the finishing touches on it just before she pulled up in the driveway. That is another thing he wanted to surprise her with, a new car. Even though the Ford was only a few years old, he wanted her to have a new Cadillac. He had already ordered it and it would be delivered Christmas Eve. He stood back for a few minutes to admire his handiwork. He realized that she would want to change something on it, add more décor, but for now he was pleased with his work.

"Where ever did you find it?" The first words out of her mouth as she entered the room. Her eyes danced.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

He was pleased. She couldn't have made a more dramatic cry of approval if she had tried. He went to her, kissed her lips and picked her up off the ground into his arms. He twirled around with her and then brought her close into his body, slowly letting her down while he teased her with his tongue.

"I love you, Liv."

"That's obvious." She smiled; she loved when he called her that. "Do you really like it?"

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"I like it and you."

"It is a new tradition in our home, the bigger the better."

"How could it ever get much bigger or better?"

"You'll see, my love, next year will top this one, remember there's the baby to satisfy!"

"I am sure you will take good care of Baby Owen."

"What do you think…boy or girl?"

"I'm not sure, whichever you prefer."

"Seriously, Olivia, what do you think?"

"I say it will be either one or the other." She laughed.

"But do you have a preference?"

"For you, a boy…for me, a girl." Her eyes started to mist.

"Then it will definitely be a girl!" He held her close.

"I saw her the other day; she was playing in the car." Olivia's words grew soft, her eyes fell.

"Did Margaret know?"

"No."

"Oliver said she doesn't like him bringing her here."

"I guess I can't blame her."

"That's silly Olivia, she would never know."

"I know…I just like to see her at times."

"Then you should."

"I didn't realize when I gave her; you know to them, that I would ever feel this way about her."

"You love her, she's yours."

"You know, I don't see Leo in her at all."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. If she was yours it matters a lot."

"We will have another child and maybe another, two maybe three, whatever you want."

"But they will never replace her, or the other."

"That is what bothers you the most."

"Yes, not knowing where she is."

"If you'd like I could have an attorney check into it for you?"

"Then what would we do?"

"You could see her; no one would ever have to know, just us."

"Do you think it's possible?"

"I don't know but I'll call tomorrow, start the ball rolling." Her eyes grew misty. He held her.

"What if she were yours?" And then the tears filled her eyes.

"I told you before; the child was never an issue with me, just more of you to love."

"Oh Brett, I think I made a horrible mistake."

"Liv…" She looked up at him; if he called her by that pet name what he had to say was most important.

"What?"

"I will take care of everything."

The next morning he had put the call through. He had looked up the best attorney in Los Angeles. He had an appointment. Two days later he kept that appointment. He did not tell Olivia, he did not tell anyone. He never wanted anyone to let it slip to Leonard Goldstein. Within the week Brett got an unexpected call, Mr. Harvey Wagoner, the best attorney in the whole world. Brett was ecstatic. He could hardly wait to tell Olivia. But then he decided he would wait till Christmas Eve. He would drive her there; they would most assuredly be home…Christmas Eve…a child. No one with children usually ventured out on Christmas, Saint Nicholas and all. No, they would be home. They had to be home. Brett and Olivia would just park and wait and see what wonders might appear. Brett Owen was in "seventh heaven," and really deep down inside he was as excited and brimming with curiosity as would be Olivia. What did she look like? If she looked like the other than they would come to the same conclusion, they shared the same father.

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He had also looked upon the little girl. She was beautiful. She looked like her mother. He had never mentioned it to Olivia but Olivia had commented on it. The child looked nothing like Goldstein. That thought made his heart beat rapidly. If both girls were his, he felt like killing that SOB. Because of Leonard, Olivia had given up both little girls. Brett had questioned her about the first child; it took years before Olivia told him the truth. She had been forced to give up that child. Leonard would have ruined Brett. Brett was livid. Acting had never meant anything to him. Olivia had been the one and only thing he ever desired. It was a shame Leonard had ruined their relationship from the start. Brett sat down on the sofa. He had to concentrate, every fiber of his very being wanted to break every bone in Leo's body. It was all he could do to keep that anger under control.

Over the next few days Olivia found a beautiful carved armoire in a vintage shop near Hollywood and Vine. She knew it would be perfect for their new little addition. The darling "Beatrix Potter" rabbits were painted in beautiful pastels and seemed so realistic. She was ecstatic with her rich find. She had even purchased a few delicate kimonos in pastel colors to match Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail.

She had already decided on which room they would use as the nursery. She had been toying with the idea for the last few years. It was directly across the hall from hers. It had been painted a soft yellow, a neutral color that could be used for a little prince or princess. The room had a beautiful white carved mantel with cherubs, and a matching window seat. It held a lovely antique white iron bed. She couldn't wait to purchase a matching crib and layette.

On the day of delivery she thought her heart might just explode from excitement. The men carried the lovely piece up the stairs and set it down where Olivia directed them. She stood there, tears falling down her cheeks. When the men left she opened the drawers, and arranged the baby articles she had purchased. She could hardly wait for Brett to come home. This was not a dream!

Christmas Eve Day, 1922, the car, the beautiful new Cadillac had been delivered earlier in the day, a Town Brougham. It was the first year that Cadillac had reduced its price of automobiles. Not only in January of 1922 but again in December. That is one of the reasons Brett had chosen to buy the car for Olivia. It was a beauty, nickel plated lights and radiator shell, the new steering wheel had no hinge, the windshield was cleaner and the rearview mirror was a standard feature. The five passenger sedan sported a trunk rack, vertical bars on the rear body, and running board kick plates. Olivia had been thrilled. Brett had changed his mind on the Christmas Eve delivery. He wanted to be able to drive Olivia in style to the waiting surprise, the little bundle of joy!

She had no idea where they were going, no idea their destination lay in Long Beach, twenty miles away. The day was warm and sunny. But when they reached the ocean, they could feel the cool breeze. He stopped for a moment along the shore. They watched as the boat moved through the water.

"I'm going to have to bring you here one evening."

"Oh."

"Yes, you know that boat is a casino, dining, dancing and a little gambling just off the three mile limit. I hear it is really quite spectacular, I don't know why I never thought of it before."

"It sounds wonderful; I don't know why you never told me about it."

"I've never been here myself, just a brief description of it from Leonard." At the sound of that name, Olivia looked away.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned him, but he did tell me about the ship."

"It's all right, I should get used to that name but somehow I can't, I don't think I ever will."

He pulled her over to him in the car. He put his arm safely around her and leaned down to her ear. "Olivia, nothing matters but us and the baby. Anyway, I think I have another little surprise for you."

They drove down the beach on Ocean Boulevard passing the grand hotel, and then he turned off on Magnolia Avenue showing her the rest of the Virginia Hotel. It was breathtaking.

"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed.

"It was built before 1906, built by old man Bixby I think. And it was to carry his name, but they had a terrible accident here and people were killed. They were superstitious and changed the name to the Virginia Hotel. It's supposed to be haunted."

"Why haven't we ever come here before?"

"I don't know, but we should come down for a weekend after the New Year. They say this place is one of the most elegant hotels in Long Beach."

Olivia looked for a moment and then Brett turned back to the Boulevard, passing the beautiful breakers. He kept the car moving eastward until he came to a large avenue, Redondo, and then he turned north. They went a few blocks and then he turned right onto a small street and then made a quick left at the next corner. He pulled over in front of the old craftsman home.

"Where are we?"

"I just thought you might like to sit here for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"Just something you might want to see."

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Their few minutes turned into an hour but he had brought some sandwiches and colas. Before long an older black Pierce Arrow pulled up in the driveway and a middle aged man got out. He went around and opened the door for the lady, somewhat younger than the man, and then he opened the back door and Olivia's eyes came alive.

The little girl with the pale blonde hair jumped out of the backseat and ran across the grass. She was dressed in a white coat and her legs were covered in white lace stockings to her knees and black Mary Janes on her feet. Brett watched as the tears sprang from Olivia's eyes. She knew her in an instant. The couple walked around behind the home, but the child ran down the driveway, as if she knew that someone special was there to see her. She ran to the front porch of the house and sat down upon the stoop. She sat there and looked across the street and then their eyes touched for a few seconds.

Olivia was speechless. She just watched the child watching her. The child started to rise and walk down the steps to the drive. She was intrigued by the beautiful lady, and walked to the edge of the curb. And then she waved her little hand. Without thinking Olivia waved back, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She watched as the child stood there obviously excited. Did she recognize Olivia? Brett thought about that. Did the child know her natural mother? It was a compelling few minutes. But then the front door opened and the man came out looking for the child. He looked at their car suspiciously and walked to the curb. He picked the child up…

"Look at the pretty lady. Look Daddy."

"I know, honey girl. I see her but you need to come in the house." The man turned with the little girl in his arms, and walked back up the drive to the steps. He paused for a moment at the front door. The child struggled in his arms, trying to look back at the car and the lovely lady. She turned her head one last time as her father carried her into the home and then she waved again.

"Please, start the car," Olivia cried out. Brett did as she asked. "How?" she continued.

"I hired an attorney."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"And he found her?"

"Yes, amazingly in just a few days time."

"She's lovely."

"She is and she looks just like her mother."

Olivia turned to look at him, "and her father."

"You see that too?"

"Of course."

"The two girls look so much alike, I guess we can presume they have the same father."

"You know they do, I just can't believe it."

"Well, I just wanted your heart to be soothed."

"I'm not sure about that."

"What! You didn't want to see her?"

"No, I wanted to see her, but now that I know the truth, I'd like to kill that man!"

"I thought of that myself."

"But it's too late now."

"Nothing is ever too late, at least you know where she lives, you see that she is well taken care of. That man obviously loves her."

"It doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't, but you did what you thought necessary at the time."

"I was such a fool!"

"No, just naïve, he drove you to that."

They rode back to their home in the hills. Brett dropped Olivia off at the front entrance, and pulled the car around in back. He stopped the car and got out. He opened the large door, and then he pulled the new car into the garage. He pondered for a moment… if he had made the right decision. She was very upset. It was Christmas Eve and what could he do to make her feel better? Even the new baby on the way couldn't compensate for their other two little girls. They had both been duped, and he intended to find out why.

She was nowhere to be found when he entered the house. He looked at the beautiful tree in the great room. She had stopped to turn on the lights, it was aglow and it was Christmas Eve. He heard the music fill the air. She had stopped to turn on the old Victrolla. He looked in the dining room, study and kitchen, she wasn't anywhere on the lower level. He then started his climb. He touched at the door and it opened. She was not in her room. He started to go down the hall to his room; he touched at his door and opened it. She was not there either. He retraced his steps to the chartreuse room. He worried for a few minutes and walked to the closet door, and then to the other door. He opened it. She was sitting on the lounge. She had a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. She had a smile on her face…that is all she wore.

He walked toward her.

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"Here, you do the honors."

He took the bottle of champagne, she handed him the corkscrew and he popped the cork. The bubbly exploded, splashing across her elegant body. She laughed and handed him the glasses. He passed up the glasses and went to her body. The taste of the champagne delighted him, and then he did something totally unexpected, he poured laps of the bubbly on each and every delicate part of her body and went straight for the feast.

An hour later the two were back downstairs sitting under the tree.

"Here!" He picked up one of the beautifully wrapped presents and handed it to her.

"Are you sure you want me to unwrap this tonight?"

"Yes."

"But you already surprised me, not only with the new car, but…with her."

"Then you aren't too upset?"

"No. I realized that you gave me one of the greatest gifts today…a glimpse of my child. At least I know where she is and that she is well. I couldn't ask for anything more. What about you, you do realize she is yours?"

"I thought of it, but then again, we can't be sure."

"I am. I'm her mother, and I'm sure you are her father!"

"Open your gift, Olivia." She looked at him, the love in his eyes and started to unwrap the beautiful red paper. The paper slid to the floor and then she looked at the golden box. She touched at the lid and it opened to the shimmering tissue inside. She parted the tissue, and there was another small box inside. Her heart fell when she opened the box; a heart shaped locket lay inside. Their names were on the outside…Olivia and Brett, delicately scribed in the gold leaf. She opened the locket. On one side was a small picture of the two of them, and on the other side was a picture of a little girl, Madeline. Again, the tears started to fall.

"How did you?"

"Oliver helped me."

"What about Margaret?"

"She doesn't know, and what she doesn't know will never hurt her."

"Oh, Brett." she handed him the locket and she turned for him to put it on her. His hands were soft when he touched her neck, soft as his lips that fell to her shoulder. He fastened the lock and then turned her into his body, a place he could hold her, keep her safe, but also where he could look at her beautiful face, and the heart that hung from her neck. He laid her back in his arms, studying her eyes. And then he leaned down and kissed her.

"I wanted you to have a small piece of each one of us today. I'm sorry there is no picture of the other. I will see what I can do about that later."

She started crying again. The tears rolled down her face, her tongue ran across her lips trying to catch the drops. He wiped at the tears and held her.

"Would you like to open one of your gifts now?" she whispered.

"You know how I feel about that."

"I know, always…Christmas morning."

"A tradition grown from childhood."

"Then why did you let me open one of mine?"

"Because you needed it."

"And you don't need something?"

"Liv, you have already given me my gift."

"Oh, but you get that often," she answered with a tempting tone.

"I'm not referring to that."

"What…?" She looked astonished and then laughed.

He touched her womb and then kissed her again. "This is the best Christmas gift of all! No, I take that back…you are the greatest gift I have ever had!"

Chapter 19

The week had flown by. They had attended a few of the holiday parties, those of close friends. They only had a few close friends. They were not caught up in the Hollywood scene, only when premieres were at hand and of course, their yearly party. Other than that they stuck to the close few. There were six of them in all, three couples. Only one of the other couples had children. It had been hard for Olivia to party at their home, the children were always there. This year she had gone willingly. But tonight was different, a different kind of party at Leonard Goldstein's, something she dreaded.

She sat at her dressing table, she applied her makeup and made sure her hair was done up in curls for the night ahead. She was going to wear a new creation, the dress that almost matched her room.

"Do you feel like it?" He had just entered the room, a cocktail in each hand?"

"Are you referring to the cocktail?"

"No, just a little bit of a come-on."

"Then you're referring to this!" She turned slowly and opened her silk robe.

"Are you okay with that idea?" His voice sounded a little sharp. "Do you think we have time?" she questioned.

"Liv, I don't care about the time, I need you!"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I felt the need. You do know about needs don't you?"

She stood up and went to him. He looked strange…

"Brett, is there something wrong?"

"Why, does there have to be something wrong, can't I get laid when I want?"

She realized he had taken something. He never had such a belligerent attitude with her before.

"Come…" she answered him. She would do his bidding and then she looked to the glasses…"Which one?"

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"This one!" He lifted his hand to show her which one held the strange elixir.

"Then give me the other." She took the glass in his other hand and led him through the doors.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" His voice sounded cocky…"But then whenever did you mind, you always liked getting laid."

She looked at him; he was being a total ass. He definitely had something on his mind. She wasn't sure she was in the mood, but he had partaken of the fruit and he needed a quick fix. She stopped for a moment; he took her arm pushing her into the room. His eyes looked wild…

"I promise, I won't muss you…you know what I mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant, but he didn't care. He continued…

"Would that bother you if I did muss you?"

She didn't speak. She sipped on the cocktail and turned to him.

"Brett…" She didn't have a chance to say anymore.

He was rough with her, pushing her toward the couch. She thought at first, rather assumed, he had gotten into this foul mood with thoughts of where they would be going tonight. She presumed he was having vile thoughts of the man who had slept with her before, also the man who had violated her. But somehow she realized, that at this time, Brett did not accept anything other than the fact that she had been most willing to sleep with Leonard Goldman at one time. And she knew it to be true.

It was not the man she knew who took her that night. This man took her by force, hurting her, but she did not utter a cry. She knew his intentions. She didn't blame him; the whole situation had been her fault, from the beginning. She ground her teeth; bit her tongue to keep from crying. When she thought he was through with her, she relaxed for a moment, but his anger had not been quenched nor his unusual desire. He ravished her over and over. And then he pulled away and left her there in pain.

She had dressed in that pain. She looked at herself in the mirror. The dress that she had wanted to wear now made her sick. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. The curls she had wanted to pile high on her head now fell covering a red spot on her neck. She went to the medicine cabinet and swallowed a couple of aspirins. She went back and removed the locket from her neck, carefully hiding it away in her nightstand. And then she went downstairs.

He followed her down moments later. He never spoke another word to her. Their drive to the mansion went by in silence. She had never ever seen him like this before. She wondered what had sparked his anger that night. She realized he had been brooding for several days. She had asked him about it, but he always clammed up. She watched him take one drink after another. She also saw him cuddle up to some of the young, new starlets. She was heartbroken.

At one point during the evening Leonard Goldstein had approached her.

He had touched her arm…she recoiled.

"There was a time, my dear Olivia, that you welcomed my touch."

"I must have been out of my mind."

"You know I have ways of taking care of business?"

"Leonard, there is nothing you can say or do that would ever make me change my mind. You make my skin crawl!"

"I don't think so, Olivia. If I remember right you seemed to like it when

I touched your skin."

"You make me sick." She had pulled away from him and run to a crowd of people. She looked back at him, but her thoughts were on Brett. Where in the world was he?

She didn't have to look far; he was there with the young woman. He was stinking drunk. He could hardly stand up. She looked at him; he felt her gaze and turned around.

"I want to go home."

"Okay." He started to walk toward her. He stumbled and she went to his side.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't think I can drive."

She looked around for someone…anyone. She had to rely on Leo; he just laughed and called for Oliver. They were home before the hour of midnight. What a New Years Eve. Brett couldn't even walk in the house by himself. Oliver carried him.

"Do you want him upstairs, Mrs. Owen?"

"No! You can leave him on the couch."

Oliver heard her tone of voice, thought about it and realized she must be upset over Brett's drunk.

"I'm going to bed." And then Olivia Owen walked up the stairs.

Oliver helped Brett to the couch, found a chenille throw on one of the chairs and threw it over Mr. Owen. Later he walked out the front door and got into the limousine and went back up the hill toward the mansion.

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In the morning Charlotte Dinsmore, the maid, came to the house, although it was not her regular work day. She had been given the holiday off, but she had returned to give Mrs. Owen the package that had arrived a few days earlier. She had mistakenly forgotten it, and worried about its importance. She had placed the small box in a linen closet. Charlotte had planned on giving it to Mrs. Owen when she returned from her appointment. Olivia returned later than expected, and the maid had already left for the evening. That was the day prior to New Year's Eve.

When Charlotte opened the door she went straight to the small closet to retrieve the package. She saw Mr. Owen on the couch. She realized he was asleep. She went up the stairs to Mrs. Owen's room. Mrs. Owen was not in her room, the bed was unmade. The closet doors were open. She went in search of Olivia. She had never ventured beyond the closet wall. She never knew about the room of mirrors, but the door lay ajar and she was intrigued, intrigued enough to go to the door and touch it slightly. At the sight of Mrs. Owen lying there on the floor, she screamed!

Brett came to life at the sound of the screaming maid running down the stairs. He sat upright and then bolted. He looked at Charlotte, she looked as if she had seen a ghost, and then she fell into his arms. He brought her to the couch and ran to the stairs. He looked up dreading what he would find at the top of the staircase. He then realized it had to be Olivia. He ran…ran to her bedroom, through the closet and into the room of mirrors.

And hour later he was sitting in a lockup in the county jail. He was being interrogated by the best. He denied his involvement over and over, until he couldn't utter another word. In the wee hours of the morning an attorney came to his aid, Sloan Sotherby. Mr. Sotherby had the money, the bail was posted and Brett was set free. Mr. Sotherby told him he would meet with him during the week, they would discuss the case, and he, Mr. Sotherby, would tell him his options.

Brett was dropped back off at the house. He didn't want to go inside. But then again, he had to. He had to look at the place once more. He felt terrible. It was all his fault. The officer stood outside the door. The morning was cold, the officer wore an overcoat. But that didn't stop the chill that went through his body when he saw Brett Owen climb the steps. He looked at him in disgust. He stood there not wanting to budge. Brett waited till the officer relented, then he opened the door for himself. Another officer was inside taking advantage of the refrigerator. The officer looked up and started to make apologies, and then realized who it was; he too looked enraged and turned to sit at the table. Of course, everyone assumed Brett had killed Olivia. He knew the backlash he was going to receive.

He remembered the previous evening, oh Lord, how he wished with all his heart he could forget it. But it would never go away. For the rest of his life he would be haunted by the actions and decisions he had made. If only he hadn't gotten drunk! If only he hadn't taken that drug. If only, he might have been able to control their destiny.

He walked up the stairs, he opened the door, the police had done their duty, and they had roped off the area starting at the closet door. He didn't care. He pulled at the barrier and it fell. He walked through the closet to the room. He looked down upon the floor, her body lay there, not in essence, but marked in the position in which she had been found.

He went to the lounge and sat down. He looked around at the mirrors, each one flashing his image. He realized that the police must have had a field day in here. He could hear their snide remarks, their sickening chortles. He realized how she had been found…naked! The newspapers must be making a fortune off of those headlines. And what could he do, everyone thought he had snapped. He put his hands up to his face; he couldn't stop the flow of tears. He remembered her that evening. He knew she had been crying. He knew what he had done; he had been so very angry with her, he must have been crazy! He almost hated her then. He was so willing to violate her in any way he could and he chose a most disgusting way. He started sobbing. He realized that he would never ever see her here in this room again. He would never see her period!

He found the small box on the floor in the closet. The maid must have dropped it when she discovered Olivia. He picked it up. It was addressed to Olivia Owen. He opened it and found another gift wrapped box inside. This box had his name neatly scribed on the card. "Brett, I'm sorry this is late in coming." It took him a few minutes to ponder on her words and then he tore at the small box. Inside, lay the gold watch he had admired. He turned it over… "To my darling Brett, Love Olivia."

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A few days later he met with Sloan Sotherby. Sotherby had been informed by Leonard Goldstein that he would stand behind Brett Owen. He was one of the studio's top stars, they couldn't afford to lose him, but of course, Leonard Goldstein would never admit to that. He just made sure Owen knew the studio was behind him…one hundred percent.

"I don't ever want to know the circumstances, the ifs and whys you did it, I don't care! I am your attorney; anything you choose to tell me is strictly confidential. Do you understand?"

Brett nodded his head, so his attorney also presumed he was guilty.

"Good, now we can get started, just tell me what happened that evening, what transpired before and up to the time Olivia…Mrs. Owen was strangled."

So they knew she was strangled. The autopsy report was thorough. He remembered the red prints, turned purple on her neck. He wanted to retch.

"Are you okay, Mr. Owen?"

"Yes."

"Fine, then we will proceed."

For the next hour Brett described their evening, in detail, well, almost every detail. He couldn't quite bring himself to describe the entire intimate parts of the evening, only the sexual act itself, more than one…many. Mr. Sotherby did not blink; he had heard it all before. Brett finished with his drunken story. He couldn't tell how he had come to be at home on the couch. He only remembered the mansion and the liquor and the beautiful woman he had been with when Olivia had found him.

Sloan Sotherby was an intelligent man, able to recognize a man in pain, a man who was in love, but a man who had done something against his very nature. Sloan felt sorrow for Brett Owen, but that is not what he was being paid for. His job was to get Owen off, free and clear. It wasn't going to be easy. Owen admitted he had taken Olivia, violated her; raped would be a better word. He admitted he was mad but never said why.

Over the next few weeks, Sloan came to the conclusion they would never win in a court of law. There had to be an alternative. When Goldstein called him to inquire how things were going, Sotherby told him the truth…"he's going to prison!" Sloan thought all hell had broken loose, Leo's language left much to be desired, but in the end he told Sotherby…prison was out of the question.

Strange, but in the next few days, a witness came forth. Her testimony seemed valid, she had seen the gardener, she had watched him enter the house that day, and she also placed him at the scene later on, after the midnight hour. She did think it was strange, but when the newspapers broke the story that Brett Owen had killed his wife, she just assumed him to be guilty. Hartman Ledford never entered her mind. Then when she watched him two weeks later as he took care of the Owen's grounds, it had sparked the memory of those wee hours in the morning on New Year's Day.

Ledford was called into the station. He was shocked to learn he was a suspect. He admitted he was at the Owen home earlier in the day. He adamantly denied he was there in the wee hours of the morning. Could he come up with an alibi? No! Strangely enough, within days, three other witnesses, neighbors came forth to collaborate the story. Ledford knew he had been railroaded and he knew why.

The trial only took a week's time. It was an open and shut case. Everyone realized that Brett Owen loved his wife, could never have committed such a heinous crime. The papers were the first to declare they had jumped to that wrong conclusion, printing retraction after retraction. Each and every publication, thereafter, boldly declared Owen innocent.

Brett Owen went to the trial. He watched Ledford every day. In his heart he wondered about Ledford. He knew he had always been an honest man. When the verdict was read, Brett left in a hurry. Somehow he couldn't face Ledford ever again. Most people thought it was because he thought Ledford guilty, and probably wanted to kill the man with his own hands, but if the truth be known, Brett was sickened. He knew Hartman Ledford was innocent, and he knew who had framed him and why!

Chapter 20

Brett Owen was back on the set of his new movie. He tried hard to act the part. His heart wasn't in it. Each new day he tried to overcome his growing apprehension, but he couldn't. There were those who mumbled about Brett, complained until it reached the top man. And then one day he was called to Goldstein's office. What went on in there only Brett and Goldstein knew about, but when he came out he seemed to change overnight? Once back on the set he was a reformed man, he did his job and to the best of his ability. The movie was a hit. Brett was nominated for an Academy Award. He seemed to be the favorite contender. Everyone in Hollywood thought he would win. The press went to town with stories of the poor man who had lost the love of his life, but still carried on, one of the most successful movies of his career.

Brett read some of the papers; he even listened to some of the news broadcasters. In public he always thanked his fans, his benefactors, in public he always smiled. It was in private that he cried, it was there in his home he walked the floors of the empty house and sobbed. He had her room locked, almost sealed shut. He would never ever allow anyone in or out of there again. He wallowed away at night in his room. He would think of her, the few times she had come to him there. He had kept one thing of her close to him, one thing of importance, the golden locket. He kept it in his nightstand by his bed. He would take it out and study the names and then he would open it and look at the two of them and their little girl.

Oliver never bothered to bring the little girl to the house again. Brett imagined that Margaret had put her foot down. Brett decided he didn't care. If he couldn't have Olivia, and then he would stop, not just Olivia but the baby she was carrying, his child, then he certainly didn't care about anyone else.

His life was that of a recluse. When he wasn't working he just sat around his home. Some days he would travel the distance to the cemetery. He would sit beside the lovely white marble headstone and talk with her. He begged her to forgive him. He cried over and over. He never meant to hurt her. He wondered if she could ever understand what had driven him to his actions on that night.

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He wasn't sure if he understood why he had done those things. They had been so happy the previous week. They had seen the other little girl. They had made love that night. He had presented her with the locket. Everything was perfect. They had welcomed in Christmas morning. They had opened their gifts, she had made him breakfast. He had never been happier. Two days later is when his heart snapped.

At first he didn't believe it, he listened, but he still didn't believe it. The man had smiled that sickening smile. He said he had proof. Brett couldn't listen to it anymore. He went home, he looked at the tree, he looked at their home, and he looked at his wife. But all he could do was think about what the man had said. The week and his attitude had festered. It came to a boil that night. He had thought about the words, he had to forget, he tasted of the liquid. He wanted to hurt her. And he had. When he went to her, she had turned and smiled, that made him even angrier. He took her, she even seemed willing, but she realized in a moment this was not something good.

He thought about this over and over in his mind. He thought about her face, her beautiful face twisted in pain and shock. He thought about her whimpering, not crying out when he ravaged her. He was an animal. He had then gone to the party. He never spoke a word to her. He had been most willing to forget with any one of the young women there. He had never been unfaithful in his life. He had almost joined one in the bedroom…almost. He couldn't bring himself to do it. She had come to him; she had asked him to take her home. She had been wounded. He couldn't remember anything after that. So as far as he was concerned he must have gone to the room, he must have continued his angry vengeance on her. He must have raped her again and then strangled her. He is the one who should be sitting in prison, not Hartman Ledford.

Goldstein was starting a new production. He had told Brett to be ready and willing. Brett had then gone to him to decline. He was willing to let Leo fire him and spend the rest of his eternities in shame and humiliation. But that is not what Leo did.

Leo laughed at him; he called him a fool, an idiot. He told him he had lied about Olivia. Brett wanted to kill the man then and there. But Leo held the ace card, he knew about the little girl, Oliver's little girl. He said he would make sure that she was well taken care of, he meant in more ways than one. He said that he would see that Brett was convicted of murder, and the girl would know she was Brett's daughter and her father a murderer!

It was then that Leo confided in Brett his deepest secret. Leonard Goldstein was impotent! He knew it all along, had been since he was a child. Leo had gotten a case of childhood mumps, they dropped to his testicles. He was as sterile as an operating room. He had let Olivia think that the little girl was his. And she just assumed that the second pregnancy was his also. The only thing Brett knew that Leo didn't is the fact that Olivia had given birth to another little girl. That child, Leo would never find out about. And Brett realized at that time he had no choice. He would forever do Leo's bidding. He would continue to be the best actor the studio had, and in return the other child, Oliver's daughter, would be left alone.

Brett Owen was 43 years old when Olivia died. He continued to make movies for the next fifteen years. He was one of the ones who gracefully made the transition into talkies. In the last few years he was always cast as the gentle loving father or grandfather, usually a widower, never finding a new love interest or if he did, it was always a fleeting romance. In real life his life ran simultaneous with his on screen character. But in real life there never was another romance. He never sought out the love of another woman. He realized he was the one who should have been sent to prison for the rest of his life and that is how he lived…in a prison.

Brett continued to live in the house for most of those years. It was only the last few years of his life that he spent in a modest hotel apartment near the cemetery. He spent a great deal of time visiting with Olivia. He didn't take anything from the home, the furnishings were left intact. The only things of value that he took were the beautiful picture of Olivia and his clothing. He had found the gold locket buried in her nightstand drawer. And it remained close by him at all times. The beautiful gold pocket watch remained untouched… hidden in its box. He had never looked upon it after that day. But he kept it… someday all would be given to their daughters.

The home was turned over to Leonard Goldstein. He gave Brett a substantial monetary endowment for the home. Brett had wanted to sell it, Leo wouldn't hear of it. So the home was kept by the Sheridan Production Company. It had been used for visiting screen writers and producers, but they had all complained about disturbances. So Leo started using it as a rental. But as many times as Leo had tried to rent the home out, the tenants never stayed.

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They all told the same tales of it being haunted; they all saw the ghost of the beautiful blonde woman dressed in the green dress. No one stayed more than a month.

Brett never mentioned the fact that the home was haunted. If he had seen Olivia there, he kept it a secret. During the last year of Brett's life, one of the tenants had been a screen writer. He stayed only a few weeks but the haunting lent to his new genre. He created the book on Hauntings in Hollywood. His book was an overnight success. Leonard Goldstein purchased a copy; he didn't keep the copy long. He placed it in the home a few weeks before the Matador arrived. Why he would do that didn't make much sense. Whether he was trying to scare the Matador or just be rid of the book, would always remain a mystery.

Brett's movies had been very successful, they provided the studio and Leonard Goldstein with much fame and money, Leo desired both. One by one during those fifteen years following Olivia's death, his partners met with unfortunate circumstances.

Marvin Ackerman and Simon Sheldon had a boating accident, near Lake Mead. They had been vacationing near Las Vegas. The boat had a gas leak… at least that is what the investigation had discovered. The boat had blown into a million pieces. Their widows received their life insurance, but the remaining shares of the studio were divided between the three living partners.

Two years later John Maher suffered a massive heart attack. He was in the act, and not with a young woman, but one of the pretty boys of Hollywood. Again, only the life insurance was awarded to Mrs. Maher. She wanted to contest, but someone let it slip that John's sexual preference would be disclosed in the Sunday edition. She kept her mouth shut and now there were only two remaining partners.

Sam Sheridan never had a moment's thought that the deaths of his partners were anything but accidents. He continued on with the business at hand, his casting couch of young and willing actresses and actors. He also, like Maher, was more interested in the male species. It was a bad habit as far as Leonard Goldstein was concerned, but then again he never interfered with Sheridan's business.

No, Sam Sheridan never suspected a thing about his partners…who were now sleeping in their graves. He never gave it a thought, until one of the new actors shared Sheridan's private screening room one evening. The new actor gave him a thrill, one of the greatest nights of Sammy's life. He knew that this young actor would go far. Sheridan wanted to make him a star! And for the overwhelming generosity that Sam was willing to bestow on this new stud, and Sam meant those words literally, he only wanted one thing, one small request. The actor was most agreeable. He even performed for Sam again and again. That is exactly what Sheridan wanted, to keep him performing in his own personal corral.

The deal was sealed with a kiss, a long lasting kiss. The man had given him the biggest thrill of Sam's life. He also gave him something else. Sammy boy went to sleep, but not without a fight. He saw it coming. Sam Sheridan too suffered a massive heart attack. And when he did, his wish for the young actor might have come true. But Leonard Goldstein had other thoughts. It was then that Leo put Oliver Chadwick out to pasture. When the young man balked about his acting abilities, and the contract Sam had promised him, Leo showed him a film of the last night of Sam's life. It was an Oscar winning performance, on both their parts. The young actor, Gage Farrow, became content to be a chauffeur. Leonard Goldstein kept the film hidden in a secret vault, but he did view it every once in a while. The last minutes of Sam's life, the fight, the begging for his life when Gage injected the syringe, this was some of the best footage Leo had ever filmed.

Leonard Goldstein flourished along with the Sheridan Company. He had certainly come far from those days so long ago. Sometimes he would look at Brett Owen and laugh. He remembered that day, the day he had called Brett into his office. He had wanted to teach Olivia a lesson. He wasn't interested in Brett at all…just Olivia. He knew it was Olivia who had purposely not invited him to their party. He had gone there to confront her. When he didn't find them downstairs, he had climbed the stairs in search of them. He found her bedroom; he saw the picture of her…the nude. It had jumpstarted his heart. The closet doors were open. He heard movement, peculiar sounds coming from within, and then he discovered their secret room and he had watched. He was incensed that it was not he there in the mirrors with Olivia. He had retreated downstairs. When they saw him they had laughed. He knew what he wanted to do. He would make her pay. He had plenty of time to think about it.

Someone had informed Goldstein right after Christmas that Olivia was expecting a baby. He thought he would have a little fun with Brett Owen. He had that fun when he told Brett that he knew Olivia was pregnant. That she 146

had come to him, had cried that Brett could not produce a child. Leo had been most willing to help. And now Leo understood that she was with child, and he wanted to congratulate them. No one need ever know it was not Brett's child, that Brett was half a man. He goaded him with the fact that Brett could have laid her forever, and it still would not have produced an heir. And Leo was willing to let Brett have all the honors. Brett wanted to kill Leo. At first he didn't believe it, but Leo told him that a simple blood test would confirm he, Leo, was the father. Brett left the office in a rage. Leo just laughed.

Over the next few days, Brett thought about Leonard's words. Had Olivia really gone to Goldstein? He just didn't believe it. But they had been trying for months and then she was pregnant. He had thought, or else she had interjected that thought in him, that it was the Spanish fly. He had been a fool. In his rage he had killed Olivia.

Goldstein seemed to always come out ahead. Brett remembered his words to Olivia…"He can never hurt us again." What a joke. Leonard Goldstein had been hurting them from the moment Olivia had walked into their lives. Brett Owen wanted revenge, but how would he ever get it?

Chapter 21

Alejandro had been working nonstop with Montoya. There had been that moment of dissention in the beginning, it had not eased. In fact it grew more intense with each passing day. Everyone on the set could feel the tension between the two Matadors. Johnny Rocket never ceased to give Leonard Goldstein detailed reports of the day's events.

Montoya's mind flourished with thoughts of Alejandro and Madeline. He wasn't jealous of the fact that they were sleeping together. No, it was the fact that Madeline was getting away with murder, and Vivanco had provided her with an alibi. Montoya looked at Alex every moment of the day, wishing he had the guts to strangle the man. But Montoya had never been an athletic man, he looked the part, but he seldom acted the part in real life.

Montoya missed Roger. He missed him so much that his thoughts consumed him. His mind reeled with all the memories of his lover. Sometimes he just couldn't pull himself together. He started drinking, excessively. It seemed to be the only way he could fall asleep. Leonard made him see a shrink, demanded it. Ricardo resisted Goldstein's advice. But then Goldstein laid the law down. He would be put on suspension if he didn't see the doctor.

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Montoya thought about it. He was tired of being commanded by Goldstein. He was tired of everything. But he was also in debt. He needed this movie and the one after. The Matador movie would certainly be successful, and maybe he would be able to secure another contract, hopefully away from Leo. Paramount had approached him before the Matador film, but he had been locked in his contract, he had to do the picture. He had also been baited with the fact that Goldstein was going to film in Spain. Ricardo had been exuberant with that fact. He would be in Spain. He planned on taking Roger. There they could enjoy their affair without the knowledge of anyone. Roger would be there as an extra, on the set everyday where they could spend time together. They could slip away at lunch and feast on each other. Leo would never know. Ricardo hadn't planned on taking Madeline. He knew she didn't care. But then Leo had a change of plans, he didn't want to waste the money on Spain. They would film there on the Hollywood set. It saved a great deal of money and Goldstein was happy.

The psychiatrist gave Ricardo a prescription. The doctor cautioned him this was a potent sleeping pill, not to be mixed with alcohol. The pill worked, he stopped drinking. But the hatred still existed on the set. The hatred was not one sided. Alejandro couldn't stand the movie star either. Every time he looked at Montoya, he thought of the lies and deceit he had brought upon Madeline. Montoya had married her, had given in to Goldstein and had used her, and that made Alex seethe. What man would ever do that to a lady?

Alejandro remembered the way Montoya treated Madeline, his indifference to her on the set, at Ciro's, everywhere. He couldn't stand Montoya. The feeling was mutual and so the two men disagreed daily on the set. Montoya didn't feel that Alejandro was a necessity. He could act the part of the bullfighter without any lessons from the real Matador. But Leo insisted Vivanco stay. Montoya was baffled.

The big bullfight was to be filmed on Friday. If all went well the film would be finalized, maybe a few call backs, but Vivanco's presence would not be required after Friday. Montoya could hardly wait. Two days prior to the fight, Montoya was called into Leo's office. No one knew what was said, but Ricardo came out smiling.

Thursday morning early, Montoya was costumed and in makeup. Alejandro Vivanco was nowhere in sight. El Toro would be used in this scene. The stage hands and trainers were there for security. Ricardo Montoya only had to stand in the ring for a few minutes with the bull. He seemed to be ecstatic. Everyone wondered exactly what would happen when El Toro came face to face with Montoya.

Someone called lights, camera, action! Montoya entered the ring. No one really ever knew what happened. Everyone seemed to have a difference of opinion on the circumstances of events, but they all knew that Montoya was dead. He had stepped into the ring, he had been happy. He was there, Vivanco was not. He had only taken a few steps toward the bull. The bull had been sedated, well, almost sedated. El Toro charged the Matador and the Matador flew up in the air. The bull attacked him over and over. The assistants tried to intervene. The banderillas were there ready to step in, but it was over too fast.

Madeline and Alejandro had spent the day together. They had spent a quiet day at home. When the officer came to their door, they held their breath.

At first they thought they were being taken into custody again…the Bennington case, but then the officer told them the bad news. Madeline cowered, she burst into tears. But it was not for Montoya those tears were shed; she realized it was Alex who should have been there. He was scheduled to have been the one in the ring. Why had Montoya been there?

Over the next few days the answers to everyone's questions seemed to lie with Leonard Goldstein. He assured everyone that Montoya had told him he would walk if he wasn't allowed to do this scene alone. Goldstein had invested far too much money in this film to let his star leave. He had argued the point with Montoya, but in the end he gave in to the star's demands.

The studio personnel, the vet on hand, everyone had made sure the bull was well sedated. Montoya only had to do two minutes with the bull in the ring…just enough footage to make it look real. At the moment the bull charged, several of the assistants had tried to shoot the animal, but he was a moving target, and they thought they might wound Montoya. In their efforts, Montoya had not been shot; he had been gored to death.

Alejandro thought of the bull and Montoya. He remembered what it felt like to be gored. He remembered his father as well. He was very sullen for a few days. Madeline was also feeling the strain of the way in which Ricardo had been killed. She realized that it could have been Alejandro fighting that bull.

The funeral was just like a Hollywood Premiere. The press had covered the event for the entire week before the service. Goldstein had purposely waited a week. The funeral home had a great deal of work to do on the body. Montoya had been gored and trampled; even his face did not resemble the handsome man of the theater. Leonard Goldstein wanted an open casket, wanted the fans to see Ricardo Montoya slumber. Goldstein had arranged everything, the golden casket, the service in the greatest cathedral in Los Angeles, and the sacred vault in which he would be entombed. Leonard did not ask Madeline nor did he even consider her wishes. He knew their marriage was a sham; he didn't want to give her the chance of making that known. It wasn't good publicity. A grieving wife brought more sympathy.

Goldstein made sure the papers never interviewed Madeline. Everyone assumed she was deep in mourning. She wasn't even sure if she and Alex were invited to the grand affair, but Leonard had made that well known. He had called her and told her to be there, and make sure that Vivanco was at her side.

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She thought about it, and then out of respect for Ricardo, decided to go. And Alejandro would not let her attend alone. A limousine would be at their disposal. Oliver had been assigned the duty to drive them.

It was almost as grand scale as the first Matador, Valentino's funeral. The fans lined the streets leading up to the church. A news camera caught the hearse driving slowly through the streets of Hollywood. The mourners, fans had been allowed to view the body in the cathedral for the entire day before the service. The golden casket lay there in all its glory. And inside the beautiful man, the star, the Matador! Goldstein had the brilliant idea of dressing Montoya in the elaborate golden costume. Everyone knew how he died, and now he would always be remembered as the "Golden Matador!"

The lines continued throughout the day and into the night. The next day the police held the crowds back. Some screamed, threw themselves on the ground, even on the casket, wanting to get one last view of their shining star. The women went wild. The camera caught it all. They even caught the limousine with the bereaved widow, and the handsome Spaniard at her side. Leonard made sure the headlines carried Alejandro's name, the great Matador who had come to train Montoya. Everyone sympathized with Madeline. No one realized that Madeline and Vivanco were lovers, that part would come later.

The High Mass was given for the fallen actor. The grand procession led from the cathedral to the garden cemetery in Glendale, where Montoya's marbled tomb lay in waiting. Leonard Goldstein had spent a fortune on this funeral, not out of any love for the star, but because he saw dollar signs. The star was laid to rest among the vast minions of mourners. After the sealing of the tomb, Leonard had arranged a special luncheon at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

The hotel had been built in 1911 for the first lady of Beverly Hills, Virginia Robinson. It had been built in the middle of the lima bean fields, but it was referred to as "The Pink Palace." Goldstein knew it was the biggest and the best, and he would have nothing but the best for Montoya's sendoff. The food was plenty and the wine flowed, a wonderful celebration of life for Ricardo Montoya. And all the stars in Hollywood made sure they were in attendance, another request of Leonard Goldstein. He had put the word out, had been assured, the other studios would make their stars appear. Leo certainly had a way with words. No one ever had the nerve to cross him. Somehow, he had made his presence well known to all the heads of the major studios, and to all the stars. They realized what influence…power he held. Without ever commenting on the fact, they all knew that Leo's partners had met with untimely deaths, certainly not coincidental from their point of view. Rumors had it that Leonard Goldstein had connections to the mob.

Madeline and Alex joined the masses at the hotel, another command from Leonard. She did as she was requested; Alex went along for Madeline's sake. Those in attendance offered her their deepest condolences. The two stayed only until Goldstein made his appearance and then they left. Oliver drove them back to the home. They spent the next few days in silence. They hardly spoke to one another.

Madeline realized there would be the reading of Montoya's will, and the house would have to be sold. She didn't care; she had no desire to ever go there again. She didn't want Montoya's money; she didn't want anything of his. Legally, she was his wife, physically, she was not. There seemed to be a moral issue here. But she could never admit to that, Goldstein would probably kill her. There could be no blemish on Ricardo's memory. Madeline thought about Ricardo. She thought about him and Roger Bennington. At least they were together again. The one thing Madeline believed in was a heaven waiting for the dead. Her mother was there, there could be no other reasoning.

Alejandro realized that Madeline had other things on her mind at this time. He spent his nights in his room, but strangely enough Madeline chose the chartreuse room. He did not object. She seemed to be at ease there. She never mentioned any ghostly apparitions, and he was content in his room without any thought of Olivia and her ghostly appearance.

Several nights had gone by and Alejandro felt the need. Since his first time with Madeline, he had resumed his sexual appetite. He rose from his bed in the middle of the night and wandered down the hall. He opened the door and gently slipped into bed with her. He touched her and she responded. She was not clothed, she seldom wore night garments. Her body was so warm and so receptive. She came on to him, she seemed to devour him. He was consumed by her appetite. Her ardor kept him at a sexual peak; she tantalized every part of his body.

He was deep into her mystery, when he groaned her name…"Madeline."

"Why did you call me Madeline?"

He stopped in an instant…"What did you say?"

"Why did you call me Madeline?"

"Who do you want me to call you?"

"I want you to call me by my name."

"And just what is your name?"

"You know…Liv!"

Chapter 22

"What did you say?"

There was no answer… "Madeline…"

He heard her moan.

"Madeline…"

He stopped and touched her face. She opened her eyes and looked at him…through him. The moonlight fell across the bed; she saw his face, looked perplexed for a moment.

"Alex, what are you doing here?"

They were right in the middle of something important, how could she not know. "You don't remember…" He was so ready, he didn't want to stop. "Do you mind?" he whispered and then continued his rhythm.

She felt him, knew immediately what he meant. She had been asleep, but she had been dreaming. Her dreams were as rich as they could get. "You feel good, I don't mind." Her hands fell, started exploring his body.

He was suddenly more stimulated than ever before. He had been making love to her while she slept, that was extraordinary and her body was so willing, even if her mind was elsewhere. He moved so slowly, concentrating on each and every movement of his body. She moaned, but she was in ecstasy and Alejandro knew it. He was ready to join her.

Later he lay in bed next to her, holding her close to him. "You really don't remember?" he asked.

"No, I really don't."

"I didn't realize."

"It doesn't matter." She leaned into him and kissed his lips.

"I needed you; I can't go that long anymore," he whispered and then he touched her mouth with his fingers.

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"I'm glad. I can't go that long anymore either." And then she laughed. For her it had only been a few weeks of enjoying the guilty pleasures of life. For him it was different.

They lay there for several minutes caught up in that afterglow. He held her close to him. He didn't realize that he had been anxious about coming into this room. They had used the room of mirrors several times, but he had never come to her in this bed. It seemed a little strange. This is the same bed in which Olivia and Brett had made love. And then Alex thought about the words she had spoken…"Call me…" What had she said? Oh, yes…"Liv!" Who in the world was Liv? He spent the rest of the night in that room, locked in her arms.

In the morning he was fast asleep when she invaded his dreams. He became alert, hard as soon as she touched him. It was her turn to pleasure him. This was a very pleasant finale to his dreams.

Two days later they were called to Leonard Goldstein's office. This time it was just the three of them within that great room. He sat as regal as ever, the king of the motion pictures. This time the brandy snifter was open to them, glasses waiting. They were shocked with his graciousness, and they were shocked with his proposal. He told them he would give them time to think over his offer. He gave them three days. They left in total disbelief.

Oliver watched them through the rearview mirror. He could tell they seemed aloof, distant. He wanted to question them. He wanted to know exactly what Leonard Goldstein said, why they had been summoned to his office. They didn't look at him, and he assumed they would talk about it later. He took them back to the house and left them there. Goldstein had given him some specific orders, he had to obey.

They were swimming in the pool. Alejandro needed to exercise. He had been amiss for the past week. He needed to get back into shape. He didn't want his leg causing him any problems. They swam without talking for a good part of an hour. He concentrated on his strokes. She concentrated on something else, what, he wasn't sure.

Alejandro realized she had a lot on her mind, the finalization of a marriage to Montoya, and the thoughts of her relationship with the Matador. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. He had been thinking about it for weeks, he had thought about nothing else. Alejandro Vivanco wanted to marry Madeline Montoya. He wanted to be that husband she had longed for, the man she had been waiting for. If she was willing, he would take her back to the hacienda, back to Mexico. But now, there were other things to consider.

Goldstein had made them a very profitable offer. It had come as a shock to both of him. He had offered the movie to Vivanco. He had offered the part of the Matador to Alex. He had also offered the leading female role to Madeline Montoya. Their names would be linked together in lights. But the best part of all was that they would be filming in Spain.

Leo had determined the picture would be forever jinxed if filmed in Hollywood. He decided his first plans of filming in Spain would be better suited at this time. He had already sent his scouts to inquire on the perfect location in Spain. They had found the little village there; they had also found the bulls. And now, he would have the authentic setting and he would have the living Matador. Leonard Goldstein was a genius.

His realization that the fans would come in masses to see the real Matador and the widow of the star bound together in the movie that couldn't be stopped, not even by the death of the famous actor. This was even better than he had ever imagined it to be.

Goldstein had his answer on the third day. The Matador and Madeline had consented to do the film. He asked them to join him at Ciro's that night, a night of celebration. They felt the excitement, they dressed for the evening. She found another dress of Olivia's in the closet, an American Beauty shade of red.

She didn't know why but Olivia's clothing seemed to appeal to her now.

Alexandro watched as she came down the stairs. She was so very beautiful. The dress was a rare creation, one of the most sensual dresses he had ever seen, her midriff was bare, her white skin glowed. He did not realize where it came from until later, much later, but for now, he stood in awe.

They entered the limo; Oliver held the door for them. They had still not informed him of their meeting with Leo. They would tell him after this night of celebration. The press was to be there, all lay in waiting. Leonard wanted this night's adventure to hit all the papers for the weekend editions. He wanted it to be the only news to fill the papers. He got his wish.

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They were walking into the club when the bulbs started popping and the questions starting flying, from every side they were bombarded. It was Leo, himself, who slowly made his way to them. He made sure that enough pictures were taken, and enough questions were asked to show that the new stars were completely taken off guard.

"Ladies, gentlemen, give them a chance to catch their breaths. This has been a most startling offer on my part. They have just come to give me their decision. Let them relax for awhile, you'll get your story before the evening is over."

With that, his spoken word, the press did as Goldstein had asked them to do. They disbanded for a few hours. They could wait, they had been assured they would have their story and Leonard Goldstein always kept his promises.

Leo looked at Madeline, the dress she was wearing. He thought he had recollections of the dress, but they were fleeting. The waiter was there and Leo ordered for all of them. Madeline, nor Alex objected, it would do no good. When the food was brought Alex found it much to his liking, filet mignon.

Not much was said during dinner. Leonard was content to watch the other stars in the club watch his new stars. Everyone seemed totally captured in this new saga of the Sheridan Production Company. There were some stars, Sheridan stars, who held contracts. They had hoped, even prayed they might have been Leo's choice, but he had made his decision, Leonard Goldstein never changed his mind.

Alex ate his steak, Madeline picked at her food. When the music started he stood next to her. She looked up at him. She didn't recognize the music but he did. He held his hand out and she stood. They were on the dance floor, and he held her there in his arms. It was the Tango, made famous by Valentino. She knew the dance, but Alex knew it better. There were women there that night, stars of the screen and stars of the stage, they had not been aware of the young Matador, not until now!

Alejandro stole many a female heart that night. That is what usually happens in Hollywood. Once a woman sees that image of a Latin Lover, their own Don Juan, emulated there in front of their eyes, close enough to touch…they melt! Alejandro Vivanco radiated enough heat from his body to scorch most of the women in Ciro's. They only had to watch the movement of his body to know that Madeline was very lucky. If he could move that well on the dance floor, he could move much more easily in bed. That is what drove them wild, thinking of his body and what moves it could make. There wasn't a woman in the club that night that did not envy the woman touching and tasting of the Matador. Leonard Goldstein sat there, he watched. He knew that his instincts were correct. Alejandro Vivianco, the taste of the forbidden, he would steal the hearts of every woman in the world.

The weekend press ran all the stories. Their pictures were planted on every paper in Hollywood. The pictures along with the stories were wired to the other leading newspapers throughout the world. Alejandro Vivanco seemed to be an overnight success, without the movie. It was then that some people seemed to recall the Matador. Some had seen him fight in the bullring. Some had thought he had died, but when the pictures showed him dancing the Tango with the beautiful woman they suddenly took notice, he was very much alive!

Oliver found out by reading the paper. He was irritated they hadn't told him about their newfound success. He seemed solemn. He realized that Goldstein had what he wanted. He had his hooks into both of them, Madeline and now Alejandro. There wasn't anything he could do about it. He had tried and failed. He didn't say a word to them. He knew that they knew how he felt, and he knew that they were not children. There came a time they had to make their own decisions. He could only hope for the best.

During the next few weeks, Alejandro spent every night in the chartreuse room. They spent many of those nights in the room of mirrors. He was completely sated with her body and her love. He found that their encounters were just that, encounters. They were always sexual, sensual, exciting, but very strange. It was almost as if Madeline were someone else. When they made love, she was in another world. Alex might have cared, but her body was so intense with desire that he never said a word.

She would come to him, close her eyes in her own private ecstasy, and delight him in ways he had never ever been delighted. It was so erotic he could hardly control himself. If her behavior, her appetite, seemed far beyond the normal, he would never comment. He was just so happy that she was happy.

He never felt apprehension again in that bedroom. It seemed to be filled with romance and love. He almost did not want to leave its comfort, its seclusion from the rest of the world. But they had packed their trunks for the voyage to Spain. Madeline had not only packed her own things, but a few of Olivia's also.

It was their last night in the room of mirrors; he had champagne waiting for her. She had asked him to bring the champagne to the room. He had done as she asked. Once he found himself locked within, she took the open bottle 158

from him. He watched her as she slipped the drops inside. He watched her carefully. She swirled his glass, but then stopped and placed her finger inside… stirring it gently. He was turned on by her finger and its movement, and then she sucked the finger dry and handed him the glass. He waited a moment, his eyes questioning.

"Go on drink it…" she coaxed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, you're not afraid are you?"

"I don't know. What is it?"

"Your trip to paradise!"

"Madeline…."

"Please, call me Liv!" He looked at her. She was intent…he did as she asked…

"Liv, what exactly is this?"

"If you're afraid, don't drink it, but I'm going to." She took her glass, poured the drops inside, and mixed it again with her finger. She put the glass to her mouth and smiled. She drank the contents. He watched her, it didn't take long. Her body told him what he needed to do.

"Drink up," she said, and he did as he was told.

True to her word it was the most pleasurable night of his life. She instigated things he had thought about, but had been too afraid to broach her with. He did everything she wanted him to do. And he watched it all in the room of mirrors. His final moves of the night brought another surprise…

"I've missed you…" she whispered. He did not realize what she meant. He was too deep into his own private ecstasy. But again he heard her words, mixed in between gasps.

"I've missed you, Brett!"

Chapter 23

Madeline was deep in thought. She was reading the information on bullfighting. She had requested the book before they sailed. She became very upset with the rules of engagement. She found that the bulls were tortured for two days before the fight.

She read that the bull is usually not an aggressive animal. The only reason he is angry and wants to charge is because he has been horrendously abused for those two days. He has been weakened, half blinded, and mentally disturbed. He is not as the spectators see him; he is not a healthy bull. Vaseline has been rubbed into his eyes to cause blurred vision, wet newspapers have been stuffed into his ears, and cotton has been shoved up his nostrils to cut off his respiration. His legs have been rubbed with a caustic solution to throw him off balance, and to keep him from lying down. A needle has been injected into his genitals. He has been given drugs to pep him up and to slow him down. He is also given strong laxatives to incapacitate him. He is kept in a dark box for those two days before the fight, another way to disorient him. So when he is finally set loose, he sees the light and thinks he is free. But his freedom is short lived. He runs into a ring with a jeering crowd and his killers, the matadors!

Madeline was sickened by the facts she found in the book. She wondered how anyone could be so cruel as to watch this type of torture…murder, or to be associated with it in any way. She was suddenly aware that she would be watching a real bullfight and very soon. She wasn't sure she could go through with this.

Alex walked into their stateroom. He saw the look on her face. His eyes dropped to the book, he realized what she was reading. He took the book from her, read a few lines, then closed it and put it on the table.

"Madeline, you don't want to read that."

"Is it true?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"I'm sorry."

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"I can't believe you were actually a part of this."

"It is a way of life…"

"Certainly, not my way of life."

"That part of my life is over."

"But what about the movie?"

"Goldstein assured me, the bull will not be hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"Read the script."

"It makes me sick."

"Do I make you sick?"

She looked at him. He was beautiful. His touch was not of a killer. He was so soft and sensuous.

"No!"

"No, what?"

"No, you don't make me sick."

"I didn't think so." He smiled and touched her. "Come, let's go have lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"But I am and I want your company."

"All right."

"All right, is that all you have to say?"

"No, I'd be happy to join you."

"Good."

"I'll just be a moment."

He watched her go into the lavatory. She shut the door. She was really a very modest woman. Even though they had slept together, she always required her privacy. She was inside for a short time. She came out looking revived. He was happy. She stopped to brush her hair; she added a little makeup and then came to him.

"Do I look all right?" "You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

He leaned in and nuzzled her neck.

The day was pleasant; they had been enjoying good weather. The seas had been calm since their departure. The voyage had been peaceful. They would soon be in Ronda. Alex remembered Ronda. He remembered fighting there. Goldstein had reserved a villa not far away from the beautiful city. He had invested in a small staff to take care of their needs. The rest of the company would be staying in one of the local hotels. But he wanted the Matador and his mistress to be rested and fit when the time came.

Alex thought about Goldstein and his intended plans. He guessed he didn't care. He would be facing El Toro, but it was going to be rigged. He knew his leg would not stand a regular fight and he knew that Goldstein knew this. He had read the script. In writing, the words and actions looked real enough. He would have to face the great bull in the ring, but he would have his assistants, his picadors, lancers and their backups.

Then he remembered Montoya, he had been offered the same assurance. What had gone wrong? Alex thought at the time it seemed strange. He was supposed to be filmed in the ring. Montoya would only be featured in the close ups. Why had Leo let Ricardo go in the arena? Alex knew Goldstein was a cruel man, but he certainly wouldn't let his star walk into a death trap.

Alejandro and Madeline had been asked to sit at the Captain's table. The other crew members were seated across the room. The Captain was always very pleasant; he saw his name in the paper, in bold print. A few members of the press had been given passage along with the studio personnel. Leonard had paid for their passage. He wanted every move covered, every move the Matador and Madeline made. They made sure they didn't seem overly affectionate during meal time. They kept their amorous feelings to themselves. They had been given separate staterooms but adjoining, and they shared a common door. The door remained unlocked at all times.

Once out at sea Madeline had returned to Madeline. They had made love on the ocean, found it adventurous, but Alex was saddened his little vixen, maybe tart might be a better word for her, had now vanished. She had been so sexually promiscuous as "Liv"…it was hard to remember the old Madeline. She did please him, she would always please him, but "Liv" had brought more meaning to the words "sexual appetite!"

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A week later they were in the villa surrounded by the most beautiful country Madeline had ever seen. The city rested on an expansive gorge that stretched for hundreds of feet. The old town was held up by two bridges. The ancient Moorish buildings were scattered around on the cliffs, giving the impression they were barely holding on. And every direction was filled with miles of greenery.

The villa also clung to a cliff, a cliff that plunged down hundreds of feet. Madeline found it breathtaking. She also found it a little intimidating. The rooms were large and lovely, all painted in bright cheerful colors. Her bedroom was beautiful, a rich persimmon color, an old hand painted bed sat in front of the window. Yards of white gauze formed a canopy and billowed in the breeze. The furnishings were old, antique, but well kept. She spent the day unpacking and arranging her clothing.

Alex soon found his way to the old arena. He knew this bullring was the best, superior even to Seville. The ring had been built in 1785. It was a two tiered arena surrounded by 5,000 seats. Alex looked at the large Tuscan columns surrounding the ring. They were built to create a grand theater feel, 18th Century Italian. Alex thought about the book Madeline had been given. It was written to disparage bullfighting. He thought about the kill, the sport.

In Ronda, bullfighting was considered an art not a sport. It was about celebrating the noble heritage and the Andalusian horse culture. Francisco Romero had combined two types of bullfighting in the 1700's and created the bullfighting known today. He completed it with the scarlet cape.

Alejandro thought about the scarlet cape. He had discovered that the red cape was actually used to conceal the blood. He had found over the years that the bull was actually colorblind. His waving of the red handkerchief had not instilled the rage in El Toro; it had only managed to distract his father for one split second. His mentor had supplied him with that information, it hadn't help. It was still his fault.

Alejandro thought of his last fight, it had been here in Ronda. He wondered if Goldstein knew that, if that was the reason he had picked this arena. Alex made his way to the second tier. He looked down into the arena. He thought about that last fight. He remembered it in detail. He had six assistants on that day, two picadors, three lancers or toreros as some might call them, and one mozo de espadas, the sword page, the man who handed him the saber. He remembered the sword. His feet had been planted; he had been prepared to use it. He heard their shouts, the shouts from the fans and his entourage…"Torero, torero!" Something had distracted him. He felt the pain, he touched his leg.

He was back in the villa. They were eating lunch. The food was wonderful. Madeline even ate. He wondered about her. She had not been eating well. He had asked her about her appetite, she wanted to look good on the silver screen. Leonard had made a comment to her about her weight; Alejandro found it to be just another reason to despise the movie mogul. He watched her eat, watched her taste the wine, he remembered her aversion to wine. But here in this beautiful little town, she enjoyed the liquid of the red vines.

After lunch they walked through the old village. They even tried to hike down one of the cliffs, down to the gorge. Alex found it difficult. Since his visit to the arena, his leg had given him a dull ache. Once down at the bottom they turned to look up at the beautiful buildings sitting on the cliffs. It was very impressive. They walked along the river's edge, and then they sat for awhile, enjoying the beauty of the day, and the scenery off in the distance. Everywhere they looked there was nothing but luxurious green acreage.

Alex found the climb back up even more difficult. Oh well, he decided this was good exercise, preparation to meet the bull. He missed the warm pool and the warm tepid water back in Los Angeles. It had soothed his leg. Now, he would have to walk and stretch before his scene in the arena.

They had read the script, alone and then together. They found there were definitely some steamy scenes. They would begin filming on Monday; they had only Sunday in which to learn their lines. Madeline seemed to be a pro, Alejandro was a novice. He studied long into the night. He had come to realize that their days would be long and their evenings, the few hours they had to sleep, would be spent in rest. He wasn't sure he liked that idea. They had been given separate rooms; she seemed content with those accommodations. He realized this was another order from Goldstein. But if all went well they would finish the film in a month's time. Filming was expensive, and they would use most of the daylight hours to wrap each scene.

It was a very warm day, had been for the last few days. The heat and the abstinence of Madeline made him miserable. For a moment he wished he had not agreed to this contract. If this is the way the Hollywood actors lived and breathed then he wasn't sure he wanted any part of this life. As a Matador he had been used to preparing for each fight. But as hard as he had trained, he had always found time to bed those special ladies. At the time of the fights he had been more sexually inclined than ever before. Maybe it was the thought of the fight, the pumping of the adrenalin, but his stamina in bed 164

always matched that of the ring. He could keep it up with the bulls and the ladies. He could feel that adrenalin rush now. He stood up and went to look for the lady. She was in her room, studying her lines.

"Madeline…" She looked up, he continued…

"I don't think this is going to work for me."

"What? I don't understand?"

"This simply is not going to work for me." He walked toward her.

"You want to go back?"

"That's not quite what I had in mind." He looked down felt the rush…

"You understand?"

"Oh, I see."

"If we can't sleep together, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Come here, mi amigo." She had been studying the words to the script… she smiled.

He walked closer to her. She reached out to him, slowly the zipper descended, her hand touched. His head pounded, his heart pounded and his manhood pounded. This adrenalin rush was the best.

To hell with the movie and to hell with Goldstein! He was going to bed her each and every day of his life from henceforward.

Chapter 24

Two weeks into the movie and he was now a pro. Their sex scenes were exactly what had been written. They were hot and steamy, as much as the Hollywood censors would approve of. Alejandro's lovemaking would be famous. Of course, he made sure he rehearsed these parts each and every night. He didn't get much sleep, but that which he did get was complete. He was well rested at the beginning of each new day. Madeline never complained, in fact she glowed, always had a smile on her face in the morning. The crew knew exactly what they were rehearsing. They realized that Alejandro was a very lucky man; Madeline was as breathtaking as the city surrounding them.

The movie seemed to be going well. They would be working in the arena the following week. Alejandro had spent a few days wandering around the village, he had even ventured to one of the ranches. He had watched the bulls sparring in the field. He watched the new young matador work with the bulls. The young man was very impressive. He asked Alex if he would like to join him in the ring. Alex hesitated for a moment, but then he walked slowly inside the corral. The bull made a few passes. Alex stepped quickly and dodged each pass. His steps were light and well placed. Alejandro Vivanco felt the incredible rush as he had those many years ago. Then the bull came at him again. He knew he was ready, but the young matador stepped in front of him, possibly thinking Alex could not control the bull. Alex was angry for a moment. He looked to the young matador, why had he interfered? And then Alex walked out of the ring. The man obviously knew of Alejandro Vivanco's reputation, and what had happened during his last fight. It was almost as if the man wished to insult him. He turned and walked back to the villa. His thoughts were on the young man.

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The crew had been filming this new matador. That footage would be used throughout the movie. The man was good. Alejandro remembered himself those many years before. At one time he had been just like this new young matador. He thought of the name "matador." The Spaniards called them toreros; the English had called them matadors. When referring to them as being most distinguished they are called "matador de toros!" Alex wanted that title again. The young man had probably done Alex a favor. He could wait; he would then be able to show his superb abilities in the arena. The upcoming scene made him smile. Maybe the young matador would then take notice of Alejandro Vivanco.

On the night before the arena, Alex seemed overly adventurous. His appetite seemed piqued, whetted. Madeline had had a hard day's work. She was exhausted. She had fallen asleep before dinner. He decided to skip dinner also. He found her in her room. His passion more than made up for hers. She was half asleep when he rendered her to climax.

In the morning he was ready to meet El Toro. Madeline had to be on the set early. She would be sitting on the first tier, directly in front of the bullring. She would be seated in a box of bright colors. Flags and flowers filled the arena, along with 5,000 spectators. Everyone in the village had been invited to serve as extras. They would be paid their daily wage plus enjoy the feast thereafter.

Alex had left before Madeline. He was underneath the arena practicing his steps, stretching his bad leg. The young matador was there also. He was there in case of an emergency. Alex had gone to look at El Toro. He was raging, more so than Alex had ever seen. He walked back to his place of solitude. He had never really prayed since that day. He had been taught by the great bullfighter, "always offer a prayer to the Virgin Mary," he always had! Today he would do the same. He didn't consider himself to be overly superstitious, but the prayer eased his mind. The thought of the raging bull in the pit brought memories of another time.

The bugle sounded the beginning of the "corrida de toros," the running of the bulls. In a traditional corrida, three matadors would fight the bull, today there would be only one, although three matadors entered the ring. Alejandro was dressed in the gold, the second in the silver, and the third in the magenta. And then he saw the new young matador, he too was dressed in gold. He did not enter the field with the rest. Alejandro watched him, he stood to the side. The three matadors made their paseillo, their parade to salute the presiding dignitary. This was accompanied by the sound of the band music.

The audience stood and cheered. Alex had been informed to stop in front of the beautiful lady, to bow and she would toss him the rose. He did as the script demanded. He stopped at the bottom of the box and bowed to the lovely lady. She looked exquisite. Her dress was white, she wore the dark wig. Her eyes sparkled. She tossed him the rose, it landed at his feet. He picked it up and kissed the petals, he had done this all before. He smiled at her and backed away. He went to stand with the other matadors. And then El Toro entered the arena. The bull was in great form. He charged the entrance, and made his runs around the great arena. The crowd stood again and cheered.

The second bugle sounded the picador. He entered on horseback, his lance in his hand. The horse was covered in a protective padding. The padding had been implemented in the 1930's. Alejandro remembered some horses that had been gored…disemboweled. There had been far more horses die in the arena in those days than bulls.

The lancer did his part; he landed the spear just behind the morillo, the muscle on the bull's neck. It had hit its mark, weakening the muscles, and the bull lost his first blood. Alejandro watched the bull. He watched El Toro charge the horse. This would give him the clue to which side the bull favored. The picador had done his job well, the bull held its head and horns slightly lower. Alex watched the camera crews, there were two of them. Goldstein had asked for a backup. He wanted to make sure this fight was filmed, that was a must!

The encounter with the picador had changed the behavior of the bull. He was now more focused on one person, and not just anything that moved within the arena. The tercio de banderillas entered the field. The three men each carried two banderillas, sharp barbed sticks. They each had the chance of planting those sticks deep into the bull's shoulders. All but one of the men planted his barbed sticks. The bull was angered, but seemed to be invigorated by the sticks.

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Alejandro did what he always did; he took two special banderillas and walked toward the bull. Only a few matadors ever did this. This is the time when the best of the matadors will embellish their performance and show off their varied maneuvers. Vivanco had been the best. His foot work had lauded him great fame. He wasn't as sure of his footwork as he had once been. He watched carefully and when the bull charged, Alejandro made his move. He planted the barbed sticks deep inside El Toro's blades. The bull went wild. Alex moved to the side. El Toro seemed overly excited. The lance and the sticks had only weakened him slightly. He seemed to be one of the best. Alex realized that this bull might have even been granted pardon by the dignitary if they hadn't been filming. This bull would have been sent to pasture and lived to sire many offspring. But no, not now, the camera was rolling.

Alejandro looked to Madeline. She was on the edge of her seat. Alex had informed her it was only a stunt. The bull was not to be harmed, and he and the bull would walk away without injury. Alejandro had been sent the telegram, he did not tell Madeline, she would be outraged. Goldstein had commanded him to kill the bull. He could either walk or he could do as commanded. He had thought about his decision for several days. It was a hard choice. He realized he had chosen to kill El Toro. But now he thought about that decision. This bull was one of the best. He was not as weak as Alex hoped he would be.

He heard the roaring of the crowd. This was the final stage, the tercio de muerte, "the third of death!" He would re-enter alone, he would re-enter carrying the scarlet cape, the muleta, and underneath…the sword! Alejandro entered the arena. He walked toward the bull. He carried the cape close to his body. The bull charged and Alejandro used his cape expertly. His passes with the bull were executed as beautifully as ever. The bull came extremely close, and the crowd cheered. Alejandro kept his eyes on El Toro. He knew Madeline watched, and he couldn't stand to think of what she must be thinking.

Again, and again he made his passes with the bull. His entire performance, his "faena," was to demonstrate his dominion over the animal. His series of passes, intended to wear the bull down, had done its job…only this time Alejandro was beginning to show wear. His leg was giving him trouble. The final series of passes would be done with his muleta. He would attempt to get El Toro into position, a position in which he could drive the sword deep into the bull's shoulder blades, down through the aorta of his heart.

The estoque, the sword, used by the matador during the passes is called estoque simulado. It is made out of wood or aluminum. It is much lighter and easier to handle. However at the end, during the "tercio de muerte," the matador changes the sword for the estoque de verdad, the real sword to perform the estocada…the kill!

Alejandro looked into the bull's eyes. He studied the great animal. Alex had performed well. He watched as the spectators stood waving their white handkerchiefs, this was an honor. He wasn't sure if it had been planned or if the crowd was really saluting him. The crowd was petitioning the president to award the bull's ear to Vivanco. His performance had been outstanding, the crowd wished to award him two ears, and the bull's tail, a real honor.

Alex made his stance, he waited, his legs locked into position, his eyes staring into El Toro's. The bull charged in full force. El Toro was still strong, extremely strong. How had he withstood the challenge? Alex realized at that time, that last minute in time, that the bull was coming too close. He started to plant the sword, but the bull rammed into his side. He felt the piercing pain, he grabbed at the wound. The audience came alive, the blood seeped through. Alejandro did not have time to think; the bull turned and was coming back toward him. He wondered why none of the banderillas came to his aid. He wondered why the young matador did not move. The bull was upon him, the bull made his pass and Alejandro drove the sword home. El Toro fell to his feet. The crowd roared and the cameras kept rolling. Alejandro walked to the side, his hand red, seeping in blood…trying to hold back the flow. He knew he was going to pass out. He made it to the entrance. He heard the cheers; he looked up, nothing but white clouds…the wings of the angels!

Chapter 25

Two weeks later he was released from the hospital. They had sutured him up. He would live. They cautioned him about exercise, they cautioned him to let the wound heal. She was there, ready to assist him. She had been so worried about him, she hadn't had time to let her anger slip. She thought he had died that day. She had watched as the bull gored his side. She had watched the red blood seep into the golden costume. She had run down to the entrance, someone held her back, strange, another matador clothed in gold. He looked a lot like Alex. She had tried to push him away…he held her tight. The next thing she knew Alejandro had come through the entrance, he had dropped to the ground. She had worked her way past the other matador and had gone to Alex.

For the next few days, she never left his side. She wanted him to have the best care, and she knew that she could give him that care. The hospital had objected, but she held her ground. She would care for the Matador. He was unconscious for the first few days. They kept him on a morphine drip. When he finally came around she was there. He was ready to hear her laments, but she only held him, cared for him.

The whole village had celebrated the Matador's victory. The bull had been slaughtered, and the fiesta that had been planned was carried out. Everyone seemed satisfied. Leonard Goldstein had even sent a telegram…"Get well quick…your public awaits you…you have insured your victory…I have work for you for many years to come!" Madeline read the words to him. He did not seem to care. He was in pain.

Madeline too realized he was an overnight success. She had watched the fight; she had witnessed his performance, his courage. And even though she was furious that he had chosen to fight, she felt the excitement flow through her body when he felled the bull. She was proud he was her Matador. She looked at him with new eyes. She had known nothing about him, nothing about the bullring. She had seen firsthand for herself. She had been there. She had also felt the fear of dying, she had feared she would never see him again, never hold him.

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He was wheeled to the front of the hospital. The car was there waiting for them. She helped him into the back seat. She could tell he was in pain. The nurses had given her the morphine. She had learned how to administer it, not too much, but enough to ease the pain. They did not want him addicted to the drug. She would see that it was used sparingly.

He didn't look at her on the way home. He kept focused on the scenery around him. He studied his surroundings, the village, the people, and the towering cliffs above. They reached the villa and she helped him from the car. He looked at the villa, contemplating the steps to the entrance. She felt his pain with each step he took. She led him to her room. She helped him down upon the bed. She helped remove his clothing. He still never spoke.

"Would you like something to eat?"

He looked up into her eyes. "Get me some tequila!"

She didn't question him; she saw his look of desperation. She left the room, and sent the house boy to find tequila. She went back into his room and sat by his side.

"Pablo went to get the tequila. Are you sure you don't want something to eat."

He shook his head. She could see that he had lost weight. He had not eaten much, just broth, tea, nothing substantial. But the doctor had warned her about too much food. The bull had punctured his intestines, he was lucky to be alive. She wondered about the tequila…exactly what it would do to his innards. But she wasn't willing to confront him with that. He wanted the liquor and she would see that he got it.

She found the large nightshirt in his things, she started to put it on him, but he shook his head again. He waved his hand…nada! He wanted to remain unclothed. She looked at the dressing on his side; it covered his belly and extended around to his back. She had been given astringent and clean bandages. They had shown her how to dress the wound. He was to see the doctor in two days, and she would make sure he was there. She had been given the pills…antibiotics. She would also make sure he took them.

He remained silent. He didn't really look at her. He was a long way away, in a different world. He was back in Mexico, back at the hacienda. He was back feeling the pity he had felt before. This time it was not his leg, it was his stomach, the muscles, the intestines…he had been warned.

He wondered why he had been spared again. Why the bull had not killed him. He also wondered why no one came to help him that day. The young matador stood silently watching from the side. Something did not seem right.

Pablo was back with the tequila, she got a glass…he grabbed the bottle. She watched him as he downed the bottle, worm and all. She realized she would not be giving him morphine, but maybe the drink was better. He closed his eyes, and lay back in the bed. She brought a bowl and a pitcher of water. He watched her pour the water, it looked so clean and fresh. She dipped the cloth in the water, and placed it on his forehead. She washed his face and his hair. And then she bathed his body. He did not object, he was feeling rather drunk. She washed every part of him. She was very careful, her touch, oh, so very soft. She took special care of him that day. He had thought he might never feel that special care again, and now he was here with her. He tensed at her touch, she saw him flinch and she stopped.

"No…" he spoke, looking into her eyes.

"Are you sure?" she questioned.

He closed his eyes and she continued. He was suddenly feeling much better. She suddenly decided she needed to try some tequila too. Again, she sent Pablo for the liquor, but this time she requested as many bottles as he could carry. He did as he was asked. When he returned she took several bottles and went to the Matador. He watched her open the tequila and take a large gulp. She coughed for a moment…her eyes watered. She didn't like it, but she would continue to drink until she too had swallowed the worm. When she swallowed the last of the tequila she bent to him and kissed his lips, he opened his mouth to taste her. She gave him a little gift, the worm. He lifted his hand and touched her breast, and then she lay down next to him, and let him touch anything he desired.

Madeline discovered she had acquired a taste for the tequila. She shared one with him every day. She found that he didn't need much morphine, in fact he even refused. He found his pain killer in the tequila. He drank at least three to four bottles a day for the next few weeks. They had begun a little ritual; whoever got the worm shared it with the other. The mixing of the tequila, the worm, his tongue, her tongue, it was very sensual. And anything he needed during his recuperation she was willing to give. She would do anything for him. She made sure she washed his body every day for the next few weeks. She made 174

sure she took special care of him. He didn't have to move his body, he didn't have to move a muscle, she made sure she moved the muscle for him, until he felt the rush every day of his life.

They were to sail home within the week. He had been recuperating for almost a month. He was now able to get up and move around the villa, he was able to walk outside and sit in the sun. He knew he had one thing he wanted to do before he left Spain; he made sure he practiced walking each and every day. And then on their last day in Ronda, he walked the mile to the ranch. He wanted to see the other matador. But when he got there and inquired, he found the matador had moved to Madrid. He was fighting in the arena there.

Alejandro stood there for several minutes, he looked at the corral, and he looked at the bulls inside. He had survived. And then he turned and walked back to the villa.

Chapter 26

The room was dark, the music intense. He looked at the screen, his image, and the bull as it attacked. He felt the pounding of his heart. He almost wanted to turn away. But he couldn't. He saw the blood, his hand as it held the sword, the bull rushing him again, and then the piercing of the heart. He watched intently as he made his way to the ramp. He watched as he fell to the ground. The cameramen had done their job, and they had done it well.

Two different cameras captured the events of that day, the lights, the actions, the sounds. It was all spectacular. Leonard had made sure he did the editing. He wouldn't trust the film to anyone but himself. And he had done it brilliantly. The cameras had captured the Matador's pain, his suffering, and they had also captured the suffering of the beautiful lady. The look on her face sickened him. He saw then what she had felt, gone through on that day. He had never realized the degree of pain he had caused her. They captured her going to him, trying to get past the other matador. He studied the face of the other matador. And then he saw himself fall. He had the strangest feeling that somehow he was supposed to have died that day.

The preview was over, the lights came on, and the staff applauded the film and all its glory, along with its gore. Everyone came to him, congratulated him, even Goldstein was smiling. Goldstein saw dollar signs; of course he couldn't help but smile.

The Matador took her arm and led her into the large room in the back of the screening room. There was a wonderful buffet laid out for everyone. He helped her to the table, she smiled at him and offered him a plate, and he took the plate from her hand. She took another for herself. She was still very protective of her Matador. She walked in front of him, helping him dish up all of his favorite foods from the beautiful silver chafing dishes. He was eating much better now, the tequila had stopped. At night he now enjoyed a glass of red wine. She was happy and he seemed to be on the mend.

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She led him over to one of the tables in the room. She started to pull the chair out for him, he just shook his head and she relented. He pulled the chair out and she sat down. He sat down next to her. She watched him take his first bite. He was so handsome. She watched him take every bite, he looked at her. She only picked at her food. He realized that Goldstein had again cautioned her about her weight. The camera photographed ten pounds heavier he had warned. Alex wanted to say something, but he would not spoil her night.

He realized that most of the admiration, the congratulations had been directed at him. But she had shined. Her image on the silver screen was so very lovely. She should have been the star, but the movie would always be his. She knew that and he knew that. And she was so very willing to let him be the star. He realized just how much she loved him.

"And how's the man of the hour?" Goldstein was there at their table.

"You're going to be a bigger star than Valentino, you know that don't you?"

Alejandro just smiled at the man. A few months ago, Leonard Goldstein didn't know that the Matador existed; now he was going to offer him the moon.

"I already have your new script waiting; I think you might find it to your liking."

"I'm not sure."

"Sure you are. Your doctors assured me that you are 'fit as a fiddle."'

"And what about Madeline?"

"Is that what you're worried about, no need, there is a part for her also."

"A leading part?"

"Of course."

Madeline started to object, Alejandro looked at her.

"No you…no me!" the Matador declared.

She didn't say a word. She could never take his success, his opportunity away from him.

"Good, I'll see you both in my office on Thursday." And then he was gone.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"What?"

"You don't need to bargain for me, it's you he wants. Everyone knows that."

"Madeline…"

She looked deep into his eyes. He took her hand, and then continued… "I love you!"

Her heart fell. She loved him too, loved him with each and every beat of her heart. "I love you!" she whispered softly. "More than you'll ever know!"

"Let's get out of here." He rose and gently pulled her chair back. She followed him. They were out in front of the studio. Oliver was there waiting for them. He got out of the car and opened the door for them.

"Everything go all right?"

"Yes, Oliver, everything went very well," he answered.

"Alejandro is a guaranteed success," she intervened. She cuddled up to him and put her head on his shoulder. He took her hand and turned the palm to his lips. He kissed her so tenderly and let his tongue move across her skin. She shivered. They had not had any sexual relations since his injury, only her sweet touch. He realized that he had been lacking. But the doctors had told him to wait for three months. It had been two, he wasn't sure he could wait any longer.

Oliver drove them the many miles to their home, the Owen Home. They had settled down to their lives. Madeline slept in her room, but only after she had taken care of him, did she leave him there in his room. She thought he would be more comfortable sleeping alone. He wasn't.

Oliver opened the door for them and they got out of the car. They walked slowly up the steps.

"Goodnight Oliver," Alex called out to him. "Thanks for everything."

"Goodnight Alex, Madeline."

She turned to look at her father. He looked older…slower than usual. He looked pale. Suddenly she was worried about him.

"Do you think Oliver is looking well?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice. Maybe he is just feeling under the weather."

"Would you mind asking him tomorrow? He would never tell me anything."

"I promise you I will ask him tomorrow."

They climbed the steps then he paused at her door. She waited for him to move on toward his room, he didn't. He opened her door and looked in. He took her hand and walked slowly to her bed. He paused for a moment, released her hand, and then sat down on the satin. He started taking off his jacket; he tossed it on the floor, then his shirt and tie, his shoes and socks. Then he stood and unzipped his trousers. She watched him.

"Are you sure you're up to this?"

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"If not, I'll die trying."

"Don't say that, please." He realized his words had disturbed her.

"Come here."

She walked to him and he started to undress her. She let him do as he wished. She had missed him so much. He held her breasts and tasted of them. He let his fingers explore her body. He lay down and pulled her on top of him. She thought she saw him flinch, but he kept his smile. She lay there on top of him. The greatest feeling she had ever experienced in her life. He moved her hips gently, and then he finally moved his body with hers. She watched his face for the pain she must be causing him, but his eyes locked with hers, and the pain he felt when he moaned was not from his injury.

It was the most pleasant night's sleep he had had since his accident. That is what she called it and he went along with it. But somehow he knew…it was no accident! He wasn't sure what had happened, why the bull was so powerful, but he knew that someone must know. He didn't say anything to Madeline; he did not want her to worry, needlessly. They were back in the states, back in their home, that too was strange…"their home." He wanted to move, find another dwelling, but she seemed content there. So be it. If that is what Madeline wanted then he wouldn't object.

They hadn't been haunted by Olivia's ghost. The house was now peaceful. The days were warm and he enjoyed the pool. The house would do. They shared her room every night. He had been able to perform his husbandly duties. He wasn't sure if he was that proficient yet, but he was certainly trying. She seemed happy, very happy. They hadn't tried out the room of mirrors since they had been home. She had been cautious about him and his movements. He could wait.

They were going out for the evening, a duty call to Ciro's. Leonard Goldstein would be there, along with the press. He wanted to give the local papers the news that the picture would be released the following week. The movie would premiere at Grauman's. Leonard was working hard on having Alejandro's prints laid in the ground on the same night, something that might be considered quite unusual. But again, Goldstein was Goldstein. What he wanted… he got!

Madeline had purchased a new dress for the evening, it was white, sequined and she looked wonderful. Alejandro wore his white dinner jacket.

They looked splendid, even Oliver commented on the beautiful couple.

Alejandro had done what Madeline asked him to do. He had questioned Oliver about his health. Oliver assured Alex that he was well, very well…just tired. He had been doing extra duty for Goldstein. New stars, new places, but now he would be strictly working for Alejandro and Madeline. He was happy.

He dropped them off at Ciro's around 9:00 pm. Goldstein had preferred they make their entrance late. He wanted the club to be filled and it was. Goldstein's table remained the best. It was always kept for him. On the off days, it remained empty. No one interfered with Goldstein. The dance floor was filled, and Alejandro did not bother to go to Leo. He pulled her onto the dance floor, the maitre d' stood in his tracks. The man looked to Goldstein and shrugged. He had tried. Goldstein sucked it in. He had been waiting for them; they were fashionably late, but later than what Leo had commanded. Obviously, the Matador didn't give a damn about Leonard Goldstein.

Alejandro took his woman into his arms, and moved her graciously around the dance floor. The press ate it up. The cameras popped, and Goldstein saw that this was working out better than he expected. Leo watched them, watched the Matador execute his moves. He realized that the Matador knew exactly how to execute his moves, well; he knew how to execute everything. Leonard had certainly misjudged the Matador. This was going to be much more interesting than he ever thought possible.

Goldstein looked at Madeline; she looked exactly like her mother. He certainly remembered her mother. He had feasted on her, used her, and screwed her royal! He watched Madeline's body, it gave to the Matador. He longed to be the Matador. He felt that unusual yearning he had felt years before, and he wasn't sure he could control that yearning any more than he had that night long ago. He remembered her, Olivia! How beautiful she had been. She had snubbed him. He had made her pay for her indifference toward him. He had definitely made her pay. And now she was gone. But her seed stood in front of him. Just what might he do with that little seed? The fantasy grew strong in his mind.

Alejandro pulled her in close, stopped for a moment and touched her face. He tipped it and let his lips explore. The cameras explored their kiss… their intimacy. The women and even the men in the room felt the spark of sexual magnetism. They wanted to be a part of that great desire. Every man there possibly touched the woman he was with; possibly let his sexual desires flow. Alejandro imagined that every man there would certainly get their rich reward that night, their little piece of heaven!

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The evening was successful. They didn't spend much time with Goldstein. The Matador had planned it that way. He wanted Leo to realize they would not bend to his will. Alejandro had deep set thoughts about Leonard Goldstein, what Leo had done in his past, whose buttons he had pushed, and whose lives he had ruined. He wondered just what the man planned to do in the future. His thoughts were not good. Oliver had intimated that Goldstein had killed before. Alejandro wanted to know who and why. Alejandro smiled across the room at Goldstein, he baited him on.

They were back home before 2:00 a.m. It had been a pleasant evening, at least for the Matador and Madeline. Alex wasn't so sure Leo had enjoyed it. But the press had eaten up every word the Matador had uttered. The press had taken hundreds of pictures of the Matador making love to the beautiful lady on the dance floor.

They walked into the bedroom. She started to walk toward the bed. He pulled her in another direction, he beckoned her to follow and she did. He was sitting on the lounge, his eyes pleading with her. She came to him and touched him. She started to undress him, tasting every part of his body as she did. And in the end she undressed for him.

Chapter 27

Alejandro looked over the script. He read the words on the first page. He studied the lines carefully. Madeline did the same. He realized before the first page ended what this script was about. He looked toward Madeline. She was oblivious. He wanted to say something, he wouldn't in her presence. His eyes rose to Goldstein. Goldstein sat there smugly. A crooked smile rose across his face. Leo wanted to see exactly what the Matador knew. When Alejandro's eyes sparked that recollection, Leo knew that somehow the Matador knew. "So what do you think? Good script, huh?"

"It looks well written," Madeline acknowledged.

Leo knew it was good, it was great, he had scripted it himself.

"What about you, Matador?"

Alejandro sat for a few seconds, he thought over his words carefully.

"It looks intriguing."

"It is! A first rate Hollywood mystery. It has blockbuster written inside every page."

"It's a murder mystery?" Madeline probed.

"It is indeed."

"And it takes place in the twenties?"

"It certainly does…the good old roaring twenties." Goldstein laughed.

"What part am I to play?" she asked unknowingly, her innocence prevailed.

"You? Why you have the leading role, the star of the silent screen, Victoria Winter! And our Matador here plays your loving husband. I thought that would thrill you, working together again."

Madeline looked from Goldstein to Alex. She seemed content. Alex realized she didn't know the ending to the movie. She was the intended victim. He knew this story well, the story of Olivia and Brett Owen. Goldstein had drafted their story.

"Oliver, you know that bastard crafted their story?"

"Why would he do that?"

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"I don't know, possibly to hurt Madeline? I really can't think of another reason, can you?"

"No!"

"Well, what do you propose that we do?"

"Did you sign the contract?"

"I told him I wanted to think about it."

"And Madeline?"

"She left it up to my discretion."

"I see and what are you going to do, tell her the gory details?"

"I haven't decided what to do."

"If you think that you are being some kind of hero here, telling her that her father killed her mother, I think you're wrong." "I would never hurt Madeline like that." "Then what?" Oliver asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Well how much time do you have?"

"The three day limit, you know Leonard?"

"That I do."

"You know, that I can't just let it go?"

"I suppose not, but please don't turn this into a scandal."

"Oliver…"

"What?"

"I love her; I thought you knew that by now?"

"I do."

"Then let me think about it for a few days."

"It's your decision."

"Oliver…"

"Yes."

"I'd like to go back to the archives."

"The newspaper?"

"Yes!"

"When?"

"Possibly tomorrow."

"What about Madeline?"

"She's having her hair done. We'll drop her off at the salon, and pick her up on the way back. I thought maybe we'd have dinner at Casa Grande." "Would you like me to make the reservations," Oliver asked.

"Does Madeline ever eat there?"

"She used to all the time."

"Good, I wasn't sure she liked Mexican food."

"She always loved Mexican food."

"Then make the reservations."

"Consider it done."

"Thank you, Oliver."

"No need to thank me, I'm just doing my job."

"Well, I hope Goldstein pays you enough, if not, I will more than make up the difference."

"Alex…"

"Yes…"

"Goldstein is paying me plenty! He even gave me a raise."

"Amazing!"

"Why are you amazed? I am the driver of his new star."

"It's a wonder he didn't give the job to Farrow."

"That was never an option."

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Yes I am, and let's leave it at that."

"Okay, Oliver, if that's the way you feel." "That's the way it is."

They had just dropped off Olivia at the salon, one of Hollywood's finest. The art deco building was rich with tones of silver, ecru and white. The large windows were covered with white satin drapes, keeping the secrets of what went on behind the scenes. The beauty secrets of the stars would remain just that, secrets.

Each famous guest was taken to their own private lounge. A fine crafted room of satins and silks bordering on a palatial setting. There they would be waited on, pampered in comfort and in private. Massage, sauna, facial, manicure, pedicure, hair coloring, anything and everything the stars wanted or required. Madeline had made the transition to the elite of Hollywood when she signed the first contract with Leo. He had referred her to the salon, and she had been most pleased as were all the other stars of the motion picture industry.

She had bid them both goodbye, had kissed Alex and walked inside. And now Oliver and Alejandro were traveling toward the newspaper office.

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"Does she know where we are going?"

"No, I didn't say a thing. She has been reading the script."

"And…"

"You never ever told her anything about Olivia and Brett?"

"No."

"And she never saw a newspaper at that time?"

"We made sure she never saw the story in print, you know, she was only six at that time."

"I guess you're right, she was much too young to remember."

"Margaret made sure that she was well protected."

"Did the police ever question you about that night?"

"Yes, they did."

"And what did you tell them?"

"Exactly what I've told you. I brought them home from the mansion.

Brett was obnoxiously drunk."

"What about Olivia?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, Alex, she wasn't drunk, but she was sullen, very sad."

"Why?"

"Brett was not being the perfect gentleman he usually was."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think?"

"There was another woman involved?" Alex questioned.

"I don't think it was serious, I don't imagine that Brett had ever cheated,

but…"

"But, what?"

"She found him that night with someone else, not in the bedroom, but he might as well have been as far as Olivia was concerned."

"Oh, I see…"

"No, I don't think you do see."

"Why?"

"Brett was very drunk, and he was angry."

"He was angry?"

"Yes, very angry!"

"What was he angry about?"

"I'm not sure, but I would imagine that it had to do with Goldstein. I think Brett was trying to get even with Olivia."

"She was cheating?"

"I don't think so, but I am sure Leonard wanted Brett to think she was." "And so the scene was set?" Alex thought about that scene.

"Yes, and Brett fell right in. He was stinking drunk; he made a total fool of himself that night. Olivia found him and asked him to take her home. But he was too drunk to drive the new car. Goldstein called me to do the honors."

"And you brought them home?"

"Yes, and I put Brett on the couch, where the maid found him the next morning."

"Did we find the testimony of the maid in those papers?"

"I don't remember."

"I wonder if the transcripts of the trial are still public record."

"Why, do you want to check City Hall?"

"Yes! No! Oliver, I've changed my mind. Let's see if we can find the transcripts of the trial."

"Do you think we have time?"

"What would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest Sotherby."

"Sotherby?"

"Yes, ask him to get the files for you, you have his card, just a simple phone call."

"I guess that would be a good idea."

"It would."

"Then I have another idea."

"And what would that be?"

"The cemetery."

"The cemetery?"

"Yes…"

"If that's what you wish."

"Is it far?"

"No, it is nearby."

"I guess it would be."

"You know it is the same cemetery where Ricardo is buried?"

"I didn't know."

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"Well, I guess you wouldn't."

"I assume all the greats of Hollywood are buried there?"

"Most of them."

"This should be interesting."

"Yes, Alex, it should."

"Do you know where Olivia is buried?"

"Yes, I do, and Brett is right beside her."

"Oliver…"

"Yes."

"How did Brett die? He couldn't have been that old."

"He was sixty-one!"

"Goldstein is older and he is still kicking."

"Goldstein is still kicking; Brett had given that up years before."

"What do you mean?"

"Brett was a broken man after Olivia died."

"Maybe that's because he got away with murder?"

"Perhaps."

"You don't think he did it?"

"I wouldn't want to make a guess on that one."

"Did you drive for him after the murder?"

"Yes."

"When did you quit driving for him?"

"On the day he died."

"You were his driver when he died?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have known if he was sick or something."

"That remains a mystery."

"What?"

"I came to get him that morning, he had an appointment with his attorney, but when I got to his home, he was dead."

"You found him?" "I did."

"How did he die?"

"The coroner listed it as a heart attack."

"Why didn't you ever tell me anything about Brett Owen before?"

"I didn't see the necessity."

"But you knew that I wanted to know everything about Olivia's murder?"

"Yes, I did, but I didn't want to stir up a hornet's nest, I was and always will protect Madeline."

"I understand, but you wouldn't be holding anything back now, would you?"

"No, Alex, I know you well enough to know that you can be trusted with anything I tell you."

"Thank you for that."

"You're very welcome."

"Do you believe it?" Alex looked hard at Oliver.

"What?"

"That Brett died of a heart attack."

"I'm not sure what to believe. He was lying in his bed, his eyes frozen… open! It was a shock, the man was never sick, never that I can remember."

"Why was he going to see his attorney?"

"He never told me."

"Did he have any living relatives?"

"He had Madeline…and her sister."

"But she doesn't know about Brett." Alex's eyes went wild, Oliver's words just registered.

"Her sister? And just who is her sister? You never told me she has a sister."

"Madeline doesn't know, she has no idea. As far as she is concerned Margaret and I are her parents. We had no other children. But there is another little girl."

"Do you know where she is?"

"No."

"Then how do you know there is another little girl?"

"Because I do."

"Who else knows?"

"I'm not sure."

"Goldstein?"

"He might have found out."

"Oliver, who is their father, I don't think you ever told me."

"That remains a mystery."

"You really don't know?"

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"Olivia was involved with both Brett Owen and Goldstein when Madeline was conceived. It could be either man."

"But why would she give Madeline up?"

"Goldstein persuaded her, you know he can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Either the child went or he would ruin Brett Owen's career. Olivia gave us the child."

"And Goldstein knew this?"

"No, she just went away. When she came back the child was not with her."

"And he never suspected that Madeline was his?"

"Not then."

"But he did find out?"

"I don't think he ever put two and two together until Madeline came back from college. I think it was then, when he saw her in his office, that he came to realize who she was. You do realize she looks just like her mother?"

"Yes, I've seen that. But what about the other little girl?"

"When Olivia came back after Madeline's birth, Goldstein promised her a contract. She was content. Brett and Olivia were going to get married. When Goldstein found out he tried to squash those plans. Olivia never told me what happened; I just know that she found herself pregnant again within a few months. She didn't know what to do. Brett wanted to keep the child; I know he wanted to marry her."

"Why didn't he?"

"He found out that Goldstein had raped Olivia."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me, I know. Again, she wasn't sure who the father was; she didn't want the reminder of his assault. I made arrangements with the same doctor who delivered Madeline."

"You made the arrangements?"

"Yes, I did."

"Doctor Gregory!"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't!"

"The good doctor had delivered Madeline there at the house in San Bernardino and no one ever knew. Margaret went there to be with Olivia. Olivia gave Madeline to us. And then she came back here."

"Who named her Madeline?"

"Olivia and we respected her wishes. But she was always our little girl."

"But you let Olivia see her didn't you?"

"I did, but Margaret didn't want to."

"But you did anyway?"

"Yes, she had given us a wonderful gift. I thought it would help to let her see the child over the years."

"What did Gregory do with the other little girl?"

"The other child was born a year and a few months after Madeline. She was born early on Christmas Day. I took Olivia to San Bernardino, Brett went with her. The child was born there; Gregory took the baby later in the day. No one ever knew where she went."

"Have you ever asked Gregory?"

"No, that was the deal. This child was going to a family that did not want any ties or any connections."

"Do you think Gregory would ever break his silence?"

"I don't know, probably not. Why? Just what are you planning on doing?" Oliver looked to Alejandro. "I don't think digging up the past is going to help

Olivia and Brett now."

"Are you afraid, Oliver?"

"Madeline has no idea she is adopted. I don't want to hurt her."

"But she needs to know she has a sister. Wouldn't you want to know?"

"You're asking me a question I can't answer."

"Well, think about it, Margaret is dead and you're getting older, I don't think the past will hurt you, it might help Madeline."

"You want me to tell her Olivia was her mother?"

"I do, but I will also leave that decision up to you. But if the time comes that I think she needs to know, I am going to tell her."

"I'll think about it, Alex."

"I think we also need to speak with Doctor Gregory. Maybe we can get a court order."

"Why would we need a court order?"

"I think that in that matter of murder the court might possibly open the adoption record."

"Whose murder? Olivia's?"

"Possibly both."

"You think Brett was murdered?"

"What do you think?"

Chapter 28

"And just what have you two been up to?" Madeline's eyes sparkled with interest. She looked beautiful, her hair, her makeup, she had allowed herself to be pampered; a fresh manicure and pedicure and both took on a new glow, a hot summer pink. She looked refreshed and relaxed.

"Oliver's been showing me some of Sunset Boulevard."

"Sunset Boulevard? I remember you driving me there when I was a little girl. That was long before Ciro's. I can remember seeing some stars going into the Tracadero. I was so thrilled. I think that is when I decided I wanted to be a great movie star. Do you remember?" she asked of Oliver.

"I remember."

"Well…" Alex continued. "He introduced me to the Garden of Allah and the Greystone Mansion. I had no idea that the Sunset Strip held so much glamour and glitz, is that what you called it, Oliver?"

"That's right, Alex, all the glamour Hollywood has to offer, and all here in this mile and a half!" Oliver seemed delighted he had offered the history to Alex.

"Madeline, did you know that the Garden of Allah was owned by the silent screen star Nazimova, she starred with Valentino in Camille?" Alex looked to see if Madeline knew the history.

"I think I've read about her," she answered.

"I took you there years ago; Nazimova bought the old mansion in 1918, just a few years after you were born. She was a big star in those days. She had so much land and her manager talked her into turning it into a hotel. That was about 1927. And so she had twenty five villas built there on the property. I've taken you by there a few times."

Madeline looked to her father, trying to remember the villas.

"Oliver told me the grand opening lasted for eighteen hours." Alejandro seemed to be thoroughly absorbed.

"Sounds like quite some party," she responded.

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"Well, the villas weren't much I have been told. The walls were paper thin, the food wasn't good, but the stars came for the thrill of it. Rudolph Valentino, Charlie Chaplin and Tom Mix stayed there. Lots of wild parties I've been told." Oliver seemed to enjoy talking about the old days.

"Who were the other ones?" Alex asked Oliver.

"Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, Hollywood's golden couple."

"I know of Valentino and Tom Mix. Tom Mix is the cowboy, right?" Alex questioned.

"Yes, and Chaplin is the little tramp," Oliver acknowledged.

"Everyone knows Chaplin," Madeline interjected.

"I don't see many movies," Alex confided.

"Well you're in the middle of Hollywood now, I'm sure you will see lots of movies and premieres," Oliver continued.

"I'm not sure…"

"Well, I am. I love movies, and I am going to drag you along to every one of them." Her words were warm and she smiled at him.

Alex looked at Madeline, she looked lovely, her hair, and her face, there wasn't anything about Madeline that wasn't lovely.

"Oliver, what was the name of the family that owned Greystone?"

"Dohenys'! Edward Doheny had it built for his son Ned, and his wife and children."

"Yes, do you know the story of Ned Doheny?" Alex asked Madeline. He watched to see her reaction.

"I'm not sure if I remember Ned Doheny," Madeline admitted.

"Well, it is rumored that Ned and his male friend, secretary, got into some sort of scuffle right after the mansion was built. One of them shot the other, and then turned the gun on himself. It's also rumored that they would have everyone believe that it was Hugh Plunkett, the secretary, who shot Ned, and then turned the gun on himself. But Oliver has been filling me in on all the details. The autopsy report shows that Hugh didn't have any powder burns near his wound but Ned did, and supposedly the detective at the scene commented that Ned was the last to die."

"I think you were too young at that time, Madeline, it was in 1929, you wouldn't remember." Oliver watched Madeline through the mirror. "Funny thing is that the Dohenys' paid for Hugh's casket, grave, burial and headstone, and Hugh is buried near Ned. The family didn't bury Ned in the family plot, it's a Catholic graveyard. They interred the two men in the Glendale Cemetery. They also had Hugh's mother disinterred from an obscure little grave in the Midwest, and reinterred here near her son. Sounds like the Dohenys' invested a lot of money in Hugh, quite strange for someone who is supposed to have killed their son."

"Didn't you tell me there were rumors about the two men? They shared the same bedroom downstairs, the wife slept upstairs. They were found in that bedroom?" He was speaking to Oliver, but Alex kept his eyes fixed on Madeline.

"That's what I've heard; they always traveled together, just the men, business and pleasure," Oliver answered.

Madeline didn't speak. She listened. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Alejandro watched her, wondered just what she was thinking, were her thoughts on Ricardo and his relationship to Roger Bennington.

"Lots of Hollywood scandals here. The strip is also home to some of the mobsters. Tracadero, Magambo, Ciro's, Bugsy Siegel has his hand in everything. The strip is outside the jurisdiction of the LAPD, that little strip is within the boundaries of the Sheriff's department, and they have learned to turn their heads. Remember, it is illegal to gamble in the city, but legal in the county, always the playground for the rich and famous!" Oliver's recollection continued to flow and he continued to drive.

Madeline had still not uttered a word. She was deep in thought.

"Oliver, I think I'm hungry."

"Casa Grande?"

"Casa Grande." Then turning to Madeline, he asked, "If that's all right with you?"

She looked up, thought for a moment. "What did you say?" "Casa Grande, does that sound all right with you?" "Yes." She smiled.

Alejandro had been careful; he had not mentioned the cemetery. He knew that it would upset Madeline to know they had gone to the final resting place of Ricardo Montoya. Oliver had shown Alex the graves, Olivia Owen and Brett Owen. Olivia's gravestone had aged over the last eighteen years. Brett's matched hers in design but looked a lot newer. Alex knew that someday Madeline would have to know about them. But for now she sat in all innocence beside him. His thoughts turned back to the cemetery.

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They had walked around looking at several of the gravesites. Many old movie stars lay sleeping there near Brett and Olivia. And then Oliver had read the name on the grave, Ned Doheny. He then proceeded to tell Alex the details of the murder and suicide of one of the wealthiest men in Beverly Hills. It had taken place at the Greystone Mansion.

Ned's father, Edward Doheny Senior, the oil tycoon, had built the mansion for his son and wife and their five children. The murder took place four months after they had moved into the mansion. Whether it was over a dispute, a lovers' quarrel, or over Ned's father, no one would ever know. Ned and his partner, Hugh Plunkett, had been involved in the trial of Ned's father, the notorious Teapot Dome scandal. The senior Doheny had been accused of bribery, but never convicted, very convenient! Oliver's words rang a bell. He told Alex that Ned and Hugh had been mentioned as bag men for Edward Doheny. The murder and suicide took care of everything. The case was closed. It reminded Alex of the other case, that of Brett Owen, conveniently taken care of by Leonard Goldstein.

Oliver then told Alex about the mansion, Greystone. It had cost over three million dollars, and was considered the largest undertaking of a family in Beverly Hills. The estate consisted of three levels of gardens, waterfalls, swimming pools, green house, kennels, play house, tennis courts and stables, everything anyone could ever want. Doheny Senior had made his money in the oil business. He hit his first gushers in Los Angeles in 1892. Oliver had told Alejandro the estate, the Greystone Mansion, was right there just off Sunset Boulevard. Alejandro had been curious about the mansion and the Dohenys. He then asked to see it.

They had spent the last hour touring Sunset Boulevard, Garden of Allah, and Greystone. The large grey stone, Tudor style home sat high on the side of the hill.

"Is that the reason they named it Greystone?"

"I would imagine. It is one of the largest and the most expensive homes ever built. They say it hosts fifty-five rooms."

Oliver drove up to the entrance and turned inside.

"You know, Mrs. Doheny still lives here."

"I feel sorry for her." Alex looked toward the beautiful home. "She must have been an innocent like Madeline."

"Alex…"

"What…?"

"Have you ever heard of a "lavender marriage?"

"No."

"Well, that is what Madeline and Ricardo had. Although usually both couples know from the start, Madeline was duped."

"I don't understand."

"When one of the partners is not heterosexual, but is afraid of discovery, you know, bad publicity, the Studio arranges for a 'lavender marriage.' That is what happened with Montoya. Leo knew what he was, but tried to alter the fact. He offered Madeline; no let's say he demanded Ricardo to marry. She was young, naïve and available."

"And people actually live like that?"

"Yes, at least in Hollywood."

"The Dohenys?"

"I would presume so. It is speculated that Nazimova also had a 'lavender marriage'…some say even Valentino. You know that two of his wives were rumored to be Nazimova's lovers. His first marriage to Jean Acker ended like Madeline's on their wedding night, it was never consummated. It is reported that Acker locked Valentino out of their bedroom that first night."

"Valentino, I thought every woman in the world wanted him?"

"But not necessarily in Hollywood. Acker got herself involved with Valentino in order to remove herself from a love triangle with Nazimova. But they did stay married for a few years until she sued for divorce. When Rudolph married Natacha Rambova in Mexico, before the end of the year, he found himself in jail for bigamy."

"Bigamy?"

"Yes, he didn't wait the legal year to remarry after the divorce. The studio would not bail him out. A few of his friends finally came up with the money. But he and Natacha weren't allowed to legally marry again until the year was complete. There were also rumors about their marriage because she too had been involved with Nazimova."

Alex shook his head and Oliver continued "But it was Nazimova who was instrumental in both Valentino's and Rambova's success. She helped many young female stars in her day."

Alex looked at Oliver. Oliver continued. "She is the one who coined the little cliché 'sewing circle."'

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"I don't understand…'sewing circle?'"

"A group of women in Hollywood, mostly stars, who enjoy the touch of other women."

"Oh…"

"Does that shock you?" Oliver asked.

"After Ricardo, nothing would shock me. You know I don't care about his sexual preference, but what he did to Madeline makes me sick."

Alex sat back and thought of all the skeletons hiding in the closets of Hollywood. He thought of Madeline and Ricardo. He thought of the term "lavender marriage." He thought of the murder and suicide that had taken place in that "fairy tale setting" of Greystone. The mansion stood there in its entire splendor. He was silent when Oliver drove away.

Oliver continued the drive down Sunset. He stopped at the beautiful complex of villas…"The Garden of Alla," Alla Nazimova's famed garden of sexual desire! It was famous for its distinguished guests and its wild escapades. The main villa was large, the smaller ones surrounded it. The land looked green, lush, a real Garden of Allah. And then they were back picking up Madeline at the appropriate time. And their conversation had not only been rekindled on her arrival, but they had also back tracked along the Sunset Strip showing her the sights Oliver had introduced to Alex.

Their conversation had taken them to their destination and ended when they arrived. Alex didn't wait for Oliver; he opened the door and put his hand out to her. She really did look stunning. He held tightly to her hand and shut the door of the car. Oliver left them at the entrance and went to park. Alex waited there for Oliver for a few seconds, and then he led Madeline to the wooden plank doors. He walked toward the doors, but paused for a moment. He pulled her into his body, and placed his hands on her face. He looked into her eyes, then titled her chin up so that his lips met hers.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him.

"No, I just wanted to taste you." And then he touched her lips again. He was startled when the door opened. Another famous Hollywood couple stood just inside the doorway. "I'm sorry," Alex offered.

"Aren't you the new Matador?" the handsome actor probed.

"I don't know about new, but I am the Matador of recent fame."

"Well, my name is Gray Marsdale, and this is Eileen Farrell." The man extended his hand to Alex.

"I'm pleased to meet you, both of you. But please, my name is Alex…

Alejandro Vivanco, and this is Madeline Montoya."

"We're familiar with Mrs. Montoya, do you remember?" Gray turned to Madeline, questioning her.

"I'm not sure," she answered.

"We met at the Goldstein party…" Madeline's eyes flashed, she had been inebriated, and she didn't remember anything. "I'm sorry; my memory seems to fail me."

"My dear Mrs. Montoya, you were three sheets to the wind, if you don't mind me saying so; I guess I couldn't expect you to remember anything."

Madeline blushed, and then Gray continued. "Don't be embarrassed, I too had a lot to drink that night, and might not have remembered you, but you almost took a dive into the pool that night. I caught you in the nick of time. But then again, I do suppose that you would have made a beautiful mermaid, I do recall your dress was stunning."

Alex remembered the dress, the aqua creation he had torched. He found Gray's words most interesting. What else did the actor know?

Madeline's brain seemed to spark, and then she responded. "I must thank you for saving me that night. I do remember someone catching me."

"That's quite all right," Eileen spoke up. "Goldstein would have scoffed, you taking the spotlight away from his aquatic beauty, but then you probably wouldn't recall that either?"

Madeline looked at Eileen; she seemed to have a vague recollection of that night. "Gray, we are probably embarrassing Mrs. Montoya. He's always speaking about things better left quiet."

"I bet you don't even remember us driving you home that night?" Gray interjected. Madeline looked dumbstruck, she couldn't speak.

"You drove Madeline home that night?" Alex looked at him intently.

"Please, don't say anything, I was in no condition to drive, I was much too inebriated, Eileen took the wheel."

Alex and Madeline both stared at Eileen Farrell.

"Do you know what happened that night?" Alex spoke up.

"No, what happened?" Eileen asked. "I didn't drop her off at the wrong address did I? You know, Gray tried to see her to the door, but he could hardly stand, and she left him on the walkway."

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"You didn't hear the news or read the papers?"

"No!" Gray turned to look at Eileen. "We left on a flight for Paris early the next morning."

"And you never heard anything about that night?"

Gray and Eileen locked eyes for a moment. "My dear Alex, we were on location for three months in a little town in the south of France, and then we vacationed on the French Riviera for the next two months. No time for anything or anybody. We just came back six weeks ago. " "The French Riviera?" Alex looked at them.

"Yes, a well needed vacation. We have been working nonstop for the past several years; the studio owed us the time off. But why do you ask, what have we been missing?"

Madeline's eyes fell. Alex looked at her and then at Gray and Eileen. "Do you think we could discuss this some other time, over dinner?"

"Sure, name the place. We have a home here in the hills, here take my number." Gray reached in his lapel and brought out a small card. "I keep these just in case…" Alex took the card, but didn't quite understand Gray's words… "in case."

"Hey, better still, we're throwing a small cocktail party tomorrow evening. Why don't the two of you join us? The address is also on the card."

Alex turned to Madeline…"I don't know, what do you think?" Madeline looked at Alex and then Gray. "I think we'd love to come. There are some things I would like to ask you."

"I'm all yours; tomorrow night, we'll see you then." Gray put his hand out to Alex and they shook. "It's been a pleasure meeting you Mr. Vivanco, and you, once again, Mrs. Montoya." And then they walked away.

"Why didn't you two go in and get a table?" Oliver was suddenly there questioning.

"We were talking to Gray Marsdale."

"Gray Marsdale?" Oliver looked around to see the couple walking toward the parking lot. "Do you know him?" Alex questioned.

"Certainly, he is one of the leading stars at Paramount; I presume he was with Eileen Farrell?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Everyone knows they have coupled."

"Well, he seems to be the one that drove Madeline home the night of

Goldstein's party."

"Are you sure?"

"That is what he said, although he did say it was Miss Farrell who did the driving." Oliver listened to Alex, but his eyes looked to the lot, and the car in which Gray was entering, a nice little sports coupe.

"And one other thing, Oliver, they invited us to a cocktail party tomorrow evening, their place. Here's the address, will that be a problem?"

"No Alex, I'll be glad to drive you there."

"Good, now let's eat." Alex noticed that Madeline was very quiet, reserved. He realized she was contemplating the circumstances of that fatal night. He also realized she didn't remember much about that night, but with a little help from Gray and Eileen, just maybe her memory could be jogged. Alex touched at the door, and the three stepped inside.

Chapter 29

The little girl peered out of the window, her eyes wide in wonderment. She was perched high up in the back seat, her knees bent under her, holding her little fingers tight to the leathered hand grip. She seemed to strain every muscle in her body just trying to see out of the square plate of glass. It was quite a scene to behold, the first real haunted house she had ever looked upon. She sat still while her father turned into the driveway and through the large metal gates, finally bringing the car, a 1922 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Pickwick Town Car, to rest by the entrance. She had been thrilled when her father told her she would be going with him. It was only on special occasions that he let her ride in the beautiful car. He had driven slowly along the Boulevard, letting her pretend she was a famous movie star. And then he had driven to their final destination.

She sat in wonderment looking out at the haunted old house.

The front and side lawns were filled with graven tombstones and remembrances of the dead. The entire landscape of the deceased wore cobwebs of silk that glistened in the night. The pumpkins were carved and glowing, mimicking the evil in their faces. She saw ghosts and goblins and strange looking monsters hiding behind the tombs and large marbled headstones next to the mausoleum, some rising forth out of the ground, as if taking flight. The look on their faces was terrifying, looks of torment and fright, as if trying to escape their deadly graves. One enormous sculptured headstone stood high above the others, it was this headstone she was drawn to. A large phantom, ghost like creature, seemed to beckon to her from beyond its portal.

The door opened and her father held his hand out to her. She shied at first but he smiled…"It's only make-believe, baby. There's no reason to be frightened. Remember I told you, it's for the party tonight."

"It looks scary, Daddy." He laughed for a moment and then picked her up in his arms. He walked toward one of the tombstones and touched at the ghost lurking behind. "See it isn't real." She felt secure in her father's arms, holding tight to his neck. "It's made of material, just like Mama uses for your dresses." The little girl reached out and touched the creature. It moved, and she

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quickly pulled her hand back, but when it didn't respond in horror, she touched at it again. She started giggling. "Silly old monster, you can't scare me." Her father laughed. "No, he can't scare you, you're a big girl."

"Put me down, Daddy. I want to walk."

"Okay, honey girl, you can walk." He sat her down near the tombstone, and she began walking from one tombstone to another, looking and touching

each monster of the night. "See, Daddy, I'm not afraid."

"I know you're not, you are really brave."

She ran around the grounds, twirling round and round looking at all the creatures until she came to the large phantom who had beckoned her. She stared at him strangely, trying to decide if she was as brave as she thought she was. She stepped cautiously to the ghostly apparition and touched at it, when she felt the soft material was harmless, she smiled.

"You don't scare me Mr. Monster." She laughed. "No you don't scare me!"

The front door opened and the beautiful lady was standing there, she was dressed in a black silk dress. The little girl looked at her, intrigued by her, and she ran to lovely lady. Without thinking the lady picked her up and held her tight.

"Why are you crying?" the child probed.

"I'm just so very happy to see you."

The small girl touched the ladies eyes and wiped at the tears. "There, now, you're all better."

"Yes, now I'm all better." The lady smiled at the child and touched her little cheek.

"Would you like to come inside?"

The child looked to the house, straining to see the rest of the haunted dwelling beyond the door. "Okay," she murmured. And the lady carried her inside.

Madeline awoke to the strange dream. She shivered and then rose from the bed. She walked to the closet and opened the doors. She studied the clothes inside until she found the dress, the black silk with the neckline of diamonds. She touched the material and held it to her cheek. The memory of the dream was still fresh in her mind. She closed her eyes and thought of the beautiful lady who had worn this dress. She thought about the dream, it was so very real, and then she thought about the house, had she been here those many years ago.

She would just have to ask her father.

She placed the dress back in its place, and touched the other dresses of silks and satins; they were well preserved in this closet of cedar. She touched one of the fur coats, a long white fox fur. It was exquisite. She felt the softness, and held it next to her body. She put it on and walked to the waiting door. She paused a moment before she opened it, and then touched the switch. The room became alive and she stepped inside. She walked to its center, looking at herself in every facet of mirror. Her hair was tousled from her night's sleep, and her face looked suddenly pale. She studied her image as she turned round and round and round.

Her head felt strange, light and dizzy. And then she stopped, tried to focus on the mirrors. She looked deep into the looking glass and saw the other image, the beautiful lady. She wasn't afraid; she stood there and gazed into the mystery of yesterday. Their eyes locked…limpid pools of blue.

She stood mesmerized, the lady of long ago smiled at her as she had done so many years before. Madeline closed her eyes for a brief moment, she remembered being held by the lady, and she remembered her tears. Why had the lady been so sad? Her eyes opened and the lady was gone. She was so sorry she had shut her eyes for that brief moment in time. She was so sorry the lady had slipped away. She walked backward to the lounge, searching the mirrors as she do so, waiting for the lovely lady to appear again, but of course, she did not. Madeline waited for what seemed like an eternity. She was so very tired, and she sat down upon the softness. Before long she was asleep…

"Would you like a cookie?" The plate was filled with all the iced delicacies…"Yes, please."

"Which one would you like?"

"I think I'd like the pumpkin."

"You're having a hard time deciding aren't you?"

The little girl stood there studying all the fancy pastries. "I really like them all."

"Then we will make sure you get one of each." And then the lady handed her the pumpkin. She put the cookie in her mouth and gently bit into the sweetness. The nice lady laughed, and wrapped more cookies inside the black linen napkin. Then she placed them inside the child's pocket. "What about some punch, you do like punch don't you?"

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"Yes ma'am!" The little girl's eyes were wide with wonderment. The house was alive with candles and jack-o-lanterns; she had never seen anything like it. She looked to the staircase, each step held a carved face.

"Here, honey, drink this."

The little girl took the cup of punch and tasted it. It was delicious and the red punch soon outlined the little girl's lips. The nice lady found another napkin and wiped the child's mouth clean. "Would you like to look upstairs?"

The little girl looked around for her father. When she didn't find him, she nodded yes. The lady took her by the hand and the two climbed up. When they reached the top of the stairs the lady opened the first door on her left. A beautiful chartreuse room lay behind the door. The child stood there in awe.

"Come…" The lady led her by the hand into the room…over to the canopy bed of satin, where the child touched at the material, it was so soft and beautiful, and then to the chaise. "Go ahead you can sit down." The little girl sat down and the lady lifted her little feet up on the satin. The little girl looked up at the portrait over the mantle, it was the beautiful lady, but she was not dressed, and for a moment the child felt she should not be looking. But the picture was so lovely and the child looked to the lady.

"It's all right to look." The child studied the picture. Something tugged at her heart. And then she quickly looked away. She was embarrassed. The last thing the lady did was to go to the closet and open the doors, and then she beckoned the child. The enchanting dresses hung there in the closet and the little girl touched at them. She touched at all of them. She walked up and down and felt each beautiful creation. She stopped at the dress of chartreuse, just like the room.

"Someday, I'll let you wear it, if you would like?" The little girl smiled.

"I promise you; someday you will wear this dress to a wonderful party."

"Really, and will I be as pretty as you?" "You'll be prettier, I promise you that."

The lady bent down and took the child in her arms. She held her as if she never wanted to let her go.

"Liv…" They heard the man calling. "Liv, where are you?"

"In here." The lovely lady turned around and the handsome man was standing by the closet door. "He's waiting, do you want to take her down or would you prefer I did?" He saw the tears well in her eyes, knew what she was thinking, and wondered if she would last the night. She bent down and kissed the little girl goodbye, and then turned away. The nice man led her back downstairs where her father was waiting.

"We have to go now, thank Mr. Owen for the treats."

"Thank you, Mr. Owen."

"You're very welcome, Madeline, please come back and visit us any time." Oliver picked her up and carried her out of the door to the waiting car. She had her napkin of cookies, she was satisfied. He opened the door for her, and she sat in the back seat of the limousine, just like the movie stars. Someday she was going to be a great movie star just like the beautiful lady. And someday she was going to wear the chartreuse dress.

Alex found her in the morning. She was wrapped up in the fur coat, sleeping soundly on the lounge. She looked so lovely there. She was still deep into dream land. He watched for a few moments and then went over and kissed her. She opened her eyes, for a second she wasn't exactly sure where she was.

She looked at him and then realized. His eyes followed every move she made.

"You had me worried, what in the world are you doing in here?"

"I'm not sure. I had such a strange dream."

He thought for a moment she must have been sleep walking again. He had forgotten to ask Oliver about that.

"You don't remember coming in here?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you look very ravishing in your beautiful fox coat but you must be freezing?"

She shivered and realized it was very cold in the room. She hadn't noticed before, but now the room seemed to dip in temperature.

"Come on, let me get you warm." He picked her up and carried her back to her bed. He lay her down and started to remove the coat. She winced for a

moment. "Is something wrong?"

"I've never made love in a fox fur!" she answered.

"There's always a first time for everything!" He smiled.

Chapter 30

The grand estate was alive with music, a jazz band playing up a storm. They could hear the instruments and wild laughter coming from outside the home the moment that Oliver opened the car door for them. They were dressed formally for the evening, and Madeline stopped to straighten his tie, although it didn't really need attention, just one of those things that women like to do. He looked at her, she looked radiant. She had picked a bright red satin dress. It was strapless and her breasts heaved beneath the material. Her skin looked so white and translucent compared to the ruby dress. Her nails and lips wore the same red color. He remembered the first time he saw her, there in Goldstein's office. He remembered her lips; he had wanted to taste them. He really couldn't believe he was here with her now. He had tasted of them and every other part of Madeline Montoya since that day. And he loved each and every part. She smiled at him. He put his arm out to her and they walked toward the mansion nestled there in Beverly Hills.

It was a warm summer night and the stars were vast in the dark blue heaven. The moon was full, a lover's moon, as some might refer to it. The walkway was filled with candlelight. Tall, large silver candelabras glistened there amongst the sculptured trees. The walk was long and Alex held onto Madeline's arm. The home was fashioned after a "storybook" French chateau. It was a bright yellow colored plaster, trimmed in white. When they reached the doorway they were greeted by a line of servants, welcoming, taking wraps and escorting the guests into the home.

Alex looked up to the formal staircase in the grand entrance hall. The walls were light in color, a pale yellow hue. Two rounded sets of steps on each side of the room swirled around the outer walls, joining at the second level to create the elegant staircase and then extended up two more stories. He realized that Gray Marsdale was a very high paid actor. The home was lovely.

They were shown into a large ball room hosting a myriad of people. The French windows were open and Alex could see the massive grounds of Gray's estate. The reflection of the blue pool sparkled just beyond the gardens. The

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trees and shrubberies held hundreds of white lights, and the walkways seemed to be filled with couples.

There were many beautiful young women dressed as French maids and one was there offering drinks. Madeline lifted the champagne from the silver tray and offered it to Alex, he smiled and then he reached out and found another and handed it to her. They touched glasses and each took a sip of the bubbly. It was wonderful, an expensive French champagne. They sipped again and turned to look at the room.

The room was plastered in a soft gold glimmer. The marbled floor held the same color and was splattered with diamond inlays. The windows were draped in gold French silk with matching braided tassels. The room took on the glow of a bright star in the heavens. Alex and Madeline were drawn to the far end of the formal room. Their eyes rose up and up to the top of the tower… the Eiffel Tower, but this Eiffel Tower was white and sparkled in diamonds and touched the top of the ceiling. The ceiling itself held a pattern of diamond stars encrusted into the plaster.

On one side of the room, near the windows, stood a white baby grand piano. A man in a black tux tapped at the keys. The song was a sultry sexy French song. The top of the grand piano held a very exquisite round mirror encased in white and gold marble. The outer edge of the mirror was surrounded in white lights and orchids. An enormous silver candelabra set perched in the center of the mirror. The candelabra held tall silver tapers, and dripped with hanging crystal drops and silver balls of glass. Crystal champagne glasses topped with balls of silver also lay on top.

Enormous beveled sconces beamed with candlelight on each wall. The overhead lights had been dimmed for the evening so that only the candles, stars, diamonds and crystals held the warm glow of light. It was very romantic. Golden satin pieces of furniture were placed around the room, but the center was left open for dancing and mingling and most of the guests were doing just that.

Outside, beyond the pool area and gardens, the jazz band was still playing, but Alex liked the music coming from inside better. The entertainer who sat strumming the ivory keys had a beautiful voice, and the words were warm and sensual…French. The music sounded familiar but Alex did not know its name. They sipped quietly on the champagne. And then Alex took her glass from her hand, found an empty tray attached to another French maid, and placed the glasses on top. He then took Madeline by the hand and led her to the floor; he stopped in the center of the room. He pulled her into his body and moved her gently. She felt warm.

"I love you, Mrs. Montoya," he whispered the words softly. She stopped for a moment and looked at him. "I knew that someday you would come. I

knew…I have loved you since I was a little girl."

"So I am the man of your dreams?"

"You are the man I love, but they were far from dreams. I knew you in the beginning, does that sound strange?"

"No, nothing you say sounds strange. I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted you, had to have you." "Well, you have me now."

"Yes, I do." He bent to kiss her.

"And I will never let you go, does that scare you?" she questioned.

"The only thing that scares me is the thought of losing you."

"You could never lose me." Their kiss was soft. She felt the gentle breeze, and moved in closer to his body. He wished for a moment they were anywhere but there. But then he felt the hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you could come." He turned to find Gray Marsdale. Eileen moved in next to him and took Madeline's arm. "And I'm so happy to see you,

Mrs. Montoya." "Please call me Madeline."

"Madeline it is," Eileen answered.

"Your home is beautiful," Madeline commented.

"We find it to our liking," Gray offered looking around at his affluent lifestyle. "A little piece of France…we found that we couldn't bear to leave its beauty so we brought it back here with us."

"Gray's a romantic; he spent a fortune redecorating the place." "I found the French definitely know how to make love." "And he has been acting the French part ever since," Eileen offered. "You don't mind, do you love?" "No, not at all." She laughed.

"How about you old man, have you ever been to Paris?"

"Only once."

Madeline looked to Alex. She hadn't realized he had ever ventured there. "And what about you Madeline?"

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"No, I've never been there."

"Then you must take her, Alex, better still, come with us. We plan on going back in a few months."

Alex looked to Madeline. "It's up to Madeline."

"Oh, Madeline, you'll just love all the little shops, the Eiffel Tower!" Eileen's eyes popped as she spoke.

"But it looks like you have duplicated the Eiffel Tower here," Alex offered.

"It's beautiful; does it really look like that?" Madeline questioned.

"No, not exactly, Gray knows that I like diamonds." Eileen lifted her arm; a beautiful diamond bracelet lay around her wrist.

"Not just like, my dear." Then he turned toward Alex. "She can never get enough."

"Would you have me any other way?"

"No, I guess not." Gray took Eileen's hand and gently pressed it to his lips.

"Say, I have a grand idea, we won't really have time to discuss anything tonight, what say you two spend the night?"

"Stay the night?" Madeline looked to Alex.

"Yes, a sleep over. It shall be great fun. We have plenty of rooms, more than enough. We usually have guests every weekend. But tonight there is no one, just us." She looked at Gray and then back to Madeline and Alex. "Come, say yes." Eileen's eyes were pleading.

"I guess it would be all right," Madeline answered looking to Alex. He just shrugged his shoulders and bowed to her.

"Good, then it's settled. And don't worry about clothes, the closets are filled, anything and everything. Tomorrow we'll have brunch, take a swim and play a round of tennis, you do like tennis?" "I've never played," Alex responded.

"Well, what about you, Madeline?"

"Yes, I know how to play tennis."

"Good, then we'll all show Alex the ropes," Gray offered.

"Why not?" Alex answered.

"Now go, have a good time, dance, get drunk, whatever suits you, your room will be waiting."

"Which room, darling?" Eileen questioned. "There are so many."

"Which one do you think the Matador and Madeline might like?" Gray responded with a twinkle in his eye.

"Femme moi l'amour!"

"Ah, yes," he answered, continuing…

"Second room to the right on the third floor. I think you will be pleased, more than pleased." Gray patted Alex on the back. "Oh, and by the way, the banquet room is on the other side, plenty of food…enjoy." And then he pulled on Eileen. "I'm so happy you're staying," she quipped and then they were gone.

"I can't believe we are actually staying the night."

"Does that bother you?" Madeline responded

"Once upon a time it might have, but not tonight, not with you."

"Alex…" "What?"

"Tell me about Paris."

"Can it wait until later?"

"That good?"

"Yes, that good!"

Hours later they opened the door to "femme moi l'amour." They were overwhelmed, a regular French Bordello in Beverly Hills. The pink satin room was sheathed in luxury. The walls were covered in hot pink embossed paper enhanced in a fleur de leis pattern. A cascade of crystal drop sconces touched each wall. The windows rose upward, two stories of diamond beveled glass panes draped in pink peau de soie silk. The ceiling was covered in mirrors and in the center dripped a chandelier of diamonds. A massive bed of pink luster stood in all its elegance. It was one of the largest beds Madeline had ever seen.

And the bathroom was marbled also in pink, complete with bidet. "Is this authentic?" she gasped.

"It's as close as they come."

"Then answer me one question."

"And what might that be?"

"Does it turn you on?" Her eyes held a sparkle of amusement.

"You turn me on," he rasped. And then he pulled her in. Her eyes rose to the ceiling as he touched the zipper on her dress.

She touched at his tie, pulling on it and then started on his studs. His jacket, shirt and tie came off easily, and her fingers explored his golden skin.

She kissed his neck, his shoulders and her lips fell to his chest.

"You taste good, Matador." Her tongue glided over his warm body.

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He pulled her in close. Her hand fell to his trousers. And then he moaned.

"You taught me well," she whispered as she looked to the ceiling of mirrors.

Suddenly, he felt her warm delicious tongue. He too looked to the ceiling. She was on her knees tempting him into wild seduction.

In the morning they were seated in a lovely dining room. Gray and Eileen looked none the less for wear after a long, long night. They were the image of a golden Hollywood couple. Dressed and ready for their tennis match after brunch.

Alex and Madeline had found the clothing, everything they needed neatly waiting in the closet and armoire. Alex sported white trousers and a pale blue polo, and Madeline had found the tennis apparel, a white short pleated skirt with panties and darling matching middy.

The breakfast was wonderful, Eggs Benedict, waffles, sausage, drizzled toast, coffee, a beautiful tray of French pastries, and a carafe of fresh squeezed orange juice. They had eaten in silence, just a few words of pleasure passed between them. When the last of the pastries and coffee were being devoured, Gray managed the first words of surprise.

"I've been studying up on the events of the past few months. I see why you were so interested in Mrs. Montoya's exit from the Goldstein Party." Madeline's eyes rose to Alex and then to Gray.

"You realize I was very drunk, I can't remember anything."

"Yes, and I was shocked to learn that you had been interrogated in the death of Roger Bennington."

"Did you know Mr. Bennington?" Alex inquired.

"I knew him, yes."

"Then I assume you knew…he and Ricardo?"

"There was talk about them."

"Did you see Ricardo anywhere near the home or Mr. Bennington when you dropped off Madeline?"

Gray looked to Eileen. "Go on…tell him," she urged.

"You know I wasn't sure at the time, I was obviously very inebriated, but now that we have been thinking back over that evening, Eileen remembers a car parked down the block behind us."

"Did you see anyone get out?"

"Not while we were parked there, but…" she winced.

"But what?" Alex asked.

"I was sure I saw a man standing near the house when Gray got out of the car. He wouldn't have noticed because he was trying to help Madeline. But

I know that I saw someone, a man, I'm sure, but then he disappeared."

"He didn't get out of the car?"

"No, he was there by the house when we drove up. The car was just parked when Gray got out. And I told Gray after we drove off that I thought I saw a man standing there near the house."

"Did you watch Madeline go up the walk?"

"Yes, she was not very stable, but she refused to let Gray walk with her.

But honestly Gray could hardly even stand; he wouldn't have been much use." "Sorry darling, just one of those nights," he teased.

"I'm sorry too, I can hardly remember." Madeline looked puzzled.

"Does any of this make sense to you?" Gray inquired.

Madeline looked to Alex. "I'm not sure, what do you think?" she responded.

"I think someone killed Roger Bennington, and it definitely was not Madeline."

"Of course, Mrs. Montoya would never kill anyone, you just have to look at her, even if she was four sheets to the wind, I don't think she could kill anyone." Gray was adamant.

"Thank you for that," Madeline commented.

"No, of course, you couldn't do such a thing, it's barbaric!" Eileen was quick to respond.

"And the police have no leads?" Gray interjected.

"No!" Alex answered.

"And they never found the murder weapon?" Eileen asked.

"No, it was never found." Alex looked toward Madeline.

"I find that strange, where could it be?" Gray continued.

Alex thought about the dagger. He knew exactly what happened to it.

"Another unsolved case," Gray murmured.

"I think the case died when Montoya died," Alex answered.

"Do you think he killed Mr. Bennington?" Eileen questioned. "No!" Madeline spoke up…" He could never do such a thing." "Then who?" Gray looked to Alex.

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"I don't know," Alex answered. But he did know, at least he knew who was responsible, Leonard Goldstein.

Madeline lowered her head. She thought about the dagger in Roger Bennington. She had never ever confided in Alex or anyone. It was a hand carved wooden dagger, studded in emeralds and rubies, another gift from Roger to Ricardo. It had been kept in the glass case in the hallway.

Chapter 31

The reconstruction of the Owen Estate didn't quite match up to the original, but came very close. To the cast and crew it looked like a beautiful old Craftsman home, a very large home. Goldstein had been careful not to duplicate the home in its entirety. Only he and Alex knew the history behind the façade. The master suite was one that kept its original design. But Goldstein made sure the walls had been left with a blank slate. He had requested the color, chartreuse, but that would come later, much later. Madeline had surveyed the entire set without incidence, but when she saw the bedroom her eyes froze. She looked at the empty room and felt the tingling up her spine.

"It looks like my room." She turned toward Alex. "Do you find that strange?"

"Most old homes look the same to me," he answered. "All built around the same time, same architecture."

"Maybe, you're right, it's just unnerving that it could be so similar."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

Alex wondered what would happen when the room was complete. He wondered exactly what his answers would be when she found out the truth. He wondered why he had accepted the offer to do this movie, and then he realized, she had been ecstatic over the part. He wasn't sure how to react; he knew that either way might end in disaster. He had agreed to the Goldstein contract. He then realized Leonard Goldstein had what he wanted, his hooks in both of them.

Alex also wondered about the room of mirrors, would Goldstein have the nerve to duplicate it. That is where Olivia's body had been found, he was sure Goldstein wanted to stay as close to the line of truth as possible. He realized that Goldstein was toying with both of them. He also realized that Goldstein toyed with the idea of having Madeline, strange if she were his daughter.

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Alex looked at her as she surveyed the room. He knew she was not content with his comments. She walked to the doors. She wanted to see what lay on the other side. She paused for a moment, her hands touched the knobs, and then she pulled on them. He watched her take a deep breath, and then watched as she slowly exhaled. The closet was empty, unfinished, nothing but boards. She still didn't seem satisfied. She studied the empty walls for a brief moment, and then shut the doors and turned to him.

"You really don't find this odd?"

"What?"

"I guess I'm reading something more into this." She studied him for a reaction, he seemed to be elsewhere. "Alex…"

"I'm sorry what did you say?"

"Am I reading something into this?"

"I think we're both tired, possibly hungry, why don't we go have lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am, so won't you join me?" He walked up and touched her hand.

"Come on, please."

She turned back to study his eyes, she wondered why he seemed so indifferent about this room.

"You know we start filming next week?" he ventured. "I know."

"I guess we'll be studying the script over the weekend."

"How could I forget?" She looked at him and then remembered something. Her eyes lit up when she spoke. "Oh, I almost forgot, how would you like to go to Palm Springs this weekend?"

"Palm Springs?"

"Yes, I thought we could relax there for a few days before production starts."

"I've never been there."

"I know, I've wanted to take you before, but it seems we've never had the chance. There is a nice little hotel there. The water is the best, and I thought it

would be good for you."

"You did?"

"Yes." She came close to him and touched at his leg. "I want to make sure you are rested and well taken care of." She let her hand touch the inside of his thigh moving upward.

"And you think Palm Springs can help?"

"I'm sure it will. There is a great little restaurant on Main Street. lots of home cooked food."

"Sounds promising…" She didn't wait for him to finish, she reached up and touched his face, and then she moved into his body and raised her head. Her hand went around his neck, and she pulled him down into her lips.

They had given Oliver the weekend off and the two had borrowed the car from the studio. It was a nice little convertible. They had driven down early Saturday morning. The hotel was just as she promised, an Oasis under the sun. The little bungalows were very romantic, built to look like Bedouin tents. The inside walls were done in bright colored satins, reds, hot pinks, purples, aquas and golds, all surrounding the rounded tufted bed of matching veils in the center. The bed moved at the push of a button. Alex watched as it circled round and round. Bolstered lounges of satins were placed seductively around the room. A large wet bar of golden glass was filled with every type of liqueur. The bath held a luxurious tiled spa. Its varied colors of blue tiles sparkled from the stained glass window above, a naked imp gracefully etched in the glass. The tub was large enough for two and complete with a mini waterfall. A selection of seductive music had been piped in.

Alex looked to Madeline and smiled. He knew it would be a glorious weekend. He was especially happy when he found that each bungalow opened up to a beautiful desert pool, the color of the water was so rich and inviting. The landscape surrounding the enclosed area was filled with palm trees, shrubs and beautiful floral arrangements, another Garden of Allah.

Alex didn't wait; he dropped his clothing and dove in. The warm water soothed every muscle in his body. He had enjoyed the pool in Beverly Hills, but there was no comparison with this warm spring water. The water felt so good on his body, and he almost thought he could stay there forever. He found the float by the pool and stretched out, soaking up the sun. He spent the better part of the day in the pool or sun bathing in the warm desert heat. He realized that Palm Springs could certainly heal anyone, body or soul.

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That night they walked across the square to the little family restaurant. It was small but very nice. They ordered fried chicken and homemade mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh dinner rolls and for dessert, fresh made apple pie. After dinner they strolled in the moonlight under the millions of stars. The stars were so close they could almost touch them. And then they went back to their tent. She undressed him and he delicately removed her clothing, and then she teased him into a midnight swim. He went willingly. The water was warm, very warm, it was delicious. He touched her and she felt her heart dip. At that moment she wasn't aware of anything but the warm rich desire he had to offer.

He realized that she had been correct in bringing him here. This was someplace he could see himself investing in, a desert home. His body was alive. He was content. He had forgotten the script, the set and the movie. He only thought of Madeline.

Monday morning bright and early they were there on the set in the familiar home. The director yelled lights, camera, action and the movie began. They spent each day filming. The days were long, very long. The days turned into weeks and Alex realized that soon Madeline would discover the secret of the script.

Sloan Sotherby had secured all the transcripts from the trial. He had even provided Alex with some other material, the death certificates and autopsy reports of Stephanie Parkins, Olivia Owen and Brett Owen. Alex kept the file of papers hidden in Oliver's apartment over the garage. He and Oliver had spent some time going over the transcripts. Sotherby had even found an old address and phone number of Miss Parkins.

One evening Alex left Madeline to her script and found his way to the garage apartment. Oliver welcomed him with a hot cup of coffee. On a whim, Alex dialed the number on the paper, an operator answered. "That number has been changed to…" But Alex was in shock, the number a blur. "Would you like me to ring that number for you?" "Yes, please," he answered. He heard the phone ring several times, he was about to hang up when someone answered. He heard a male voice.

"Hello…"

"I'm sorry, but who am I speaking with?"

"Kenneth Parkins."

"Mr. Parkins."

"Yes."

"You wouldn't be related to Stephanie Parkins would you?"

"Yes, she was my sister."

"Mr. Parkins, you don't know me, but I live in the Owen home, Brett Owen." There was a silence, a dead silence for many seconds. "You say Brett Owen?"

"Yes, my name is Alejandro Vivanco."

"What might I do for you, Mr. Vivanco?"

"I hate to disturb you, but I have some questions I thought you might be able to answer."

Again, there was silence.

"I don't need any trouble."

"I don't want to cause you any trouble. May I meet with you?" Alex waited as the seconds passed. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Would your home be convenient?"

"You know where I live?"

"I have an old address."

"It is still the same, I have lived here for over twenty years, long before Stephanie…" he stopped.

"Mr. Parkins, I just need a few moments of your time, I promise I will be brief. Would tomorrow evening suit you?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good, I will be there tomorrow, around 7:00 pm. if that's all right with you."

"If you insist?"

"I do, please?"

The man hung up the phone and Alex looked at Oliver. "He still lives there, after all these years."

"What are you going to tell Madeline?"

"Think of something good Oliver, I'm leaving it up to you." "I suggest a man's night out?" Oliver ventured.

"It works for me." Alex smiled.

"I'll see what I can do."

Alex knocked at the door, there was no answer. He knocked again. Oliver sat in the car watching from the driveway. The house was high up in Laurel Canyon. Laurel Canyon Boulevard was the main thoroughfare between West

Hollywood and the San Fernando Valley. The Boulevard linked at the top with Mulholland Drive, the same Mulholland Drive where Stephanie Parkins had her fatal accident.

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Alex looked up at the homes resting on the side of the hill, all so very close to the edge. He noticed that most of the homes were situated on that particular side. Some homes were large, beautiful works of stone, others modest wood crafted; a wide variety of ethnicity surrounded him. Alex pushed on the bell. He could hear it echo from within. It wasn't long until someone opened the door. The man was in a wheelchair.

"Mr. Parkins?"

"Come in." The man's voice sounded sharp. He didn't wait for Alex; he just turned, leaving him standing in the doorway. Alex shut the door behind him, and followed the wheelchair down the hallway. He made a left turn and Alex wasn't far behind.

The room was filled with memorabilia, mostly newspaper articles and pictures, all written by Stephanie Parkins. The walls were covered. The furniture was leather but old. The rug, a patterned oriental, was cluttered with piles of old newspapers. The man maneuvered the wheelchair next to the fireplace and motioned Alex to sit down.

"I'm really sorry to intrude, but I needed to speak with you."

"I know who you are, the Matador. I read the papers, all of them." He then picked up the one with the bold headline of "Matador"… Alejandro Vivanco pictured there in costume. Alex looked at the paper and then to Mr. Parkins.

"I have been staying in the old Owen Home. I am also involved with

Madeline Montoya, but I'm sure you have read about that also."

"I've seen the headlines, but what does any of this have to do with me?"

"I've been led into a series of events that make me believe that Hartman

Ledford did not kill Olivia Owen."

Kenneth Parkins looked at Alex, and then shoved some papers at him.

"I figured that someone someday might come up with the same conclusion."

Alex looked at the papers, the same ones he had researched before. Kenneth had circled the pictures of Stephanie in each picture, her body had been moved.

"I've looked at these pictures; she was placed at the bottom, wasn't she?"

"Is that your guess, Mr. Vivanco?"

"Well, I understand that your sister was the lead columnist on the murder investigation and the trial."

"She covered the trial."

"And the investigation?"

"Yes."

"Did she ever say anything to you about the case?"

"Not much."

"And how did you feel about her accident? I heard somewhere that you disputed the fact that she had been drinking?"

Kenneth Parkins sat there for a moment, thinking. "Stephanie never drank, she had liver problems."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Mr. Vivanco, my sister and I lived together, she never drank, ever!"

"But the police…"

"I don't care about the police, Stephanie never touched liquor."

"What about the accident?"

"You really think it was an accident, Mr. Vivanco?"

"You don't?"

"It was no accident."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do, but I couldn't prove it then."

"And you can prove it now?"

"What is it you want, Mr. Vivanco?"

"I want the truth."

"Stephanie got herself into something she had no business getting in to. I told her over and over that man was trouble, Leonard Goldstein is no one to mess with."

"Leonard Goldstein?"

"He gave her that job."

"But he doesn't own that paper."

Parkins looked at Alex and laughed. "You really think that Goldstein doesn't control everything in Hollywood? She couldn't write worth crap, he

gave her that job to shut her up."

"And why would he want to shut her up?"

"I think I've said too much, you'd better leave."

"Please, what do you mean?"

"You think I want to end up like her? Why, if Goldstein ever thought that I knew, I'd be at the bottom of Mulholland Drive just like Stephanie.

Now, please leave."

Alex looked at the old man, he was obviously rattled.

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"If you change your mind, I'm at the Owen house."

"I won't change my mind."

Alex walked out the door and got into the car.

"Did you learn anything interesting?" Oliver inquired.

For some reason Alex couldn't bring himself to tell Oliver what Parkins had said. But he answered the best way he could.

"I think he knows more than he is willing to tell me."

A few days later Kenneth Parkins had a bad fall, a fatal accident on the hillside outside his home.

Alex opened the letter. There was no return address, no name, but somehow he knew who the sender was. And then he read the words neatly written on the paper.

"Mr. Vivanco, I have thought about our conversation tonight. I am an old man; I have worried about the consequences of what will happen when I make these things known. I guess the truth should come out. I hope this helps.

"On the night Olivia Owen was murdered, my sister attended the party at Leonard Goldstein's home. She watched Olivia and Brett get into the limo that took them home. She told me they had words, some sort of altercation with Goldstein. She also watched Leonard Goldstein get into another car and follow them. She knew that a story was in the making, she had the sense to follow him. She told me she knew who killed Olivia; it was not Brett nor was it Hartman Ledford. She never told me who it was, but I assumed it was Goldstein. And the rest you know.

"She was given a position at the newspaper. It was a most prestigious position. As I said she could never write, but she got the job. Somehow her writing became better, possibly a ghost writer, I am not sure. But over the years she became one of the best gossip columnists in Hollywood. I guess I became very proud of her.

"She never married, and of course, I couldn't. I had infantile paralysis as a child. She took care of me most of my life. I loved her. I worried about her. Everything went well for many years, but then something happened. The next thing I knew she was gone. I have always suspected that Goldstein arranged for her accident.

"What Leonard didn't know was that she kept a safety deposit box. It's in an old bank in Los Angeles, next to the Carlisle Arms. I never opened it, what was the use? Stephanie was gone. I am enclosing the key, do with it as you wish. Please be careful, Mr. Vivanco, Goldstein is a very dangerous man. I wouldn't trust anyone!"

Kenneth Parkins had very neatly written the letter to the Matador. Why he felt the necessity to do this would never be known. But he had been prompted. He had placed the key inside the envelope and had put it out in the box for the morning mail. The postman had taken the letter and the rest was history.

Alex touched the key; he then slipped it into his pocket.

Chapter 32

Madeline saw the room. She turned toward Alex. Her eyes looked terrified. He looked at the set. The walls had been painted a fresh coat of chartreuse. The furniture was neatly arranged, and over the fireplace hung the portrait of Olivia Owen. He watched her, her eyes rolled back, and she started to fall. He ran to her, caught her before she hit the floor. She was out cold. He picked her up, looked for someplace to put her, he had no choice; the lovely canopy bed was waiting.

Alex didn't wait for an invitation. The girl at the front desk tried to stop him, but no one could stop him. He pushed on the door, actually he kicked it in. Leonard Goldstein sat smugly behind his desk.

"I could kill you!"

"That's very amusing." Goldstein laughed.

Alex saw the man move just to the right of him. The man moved quickly, but not quick enough. The man swung but missed. Goldstein looked shocked. Alex swung but didn't miss. He heard the man's nose break on impact…he then raised his bad leg and bashed the man's testicles. Gage Farrow sunk to the ground. Alex turned to Goldstein. Goldstein rose from his desk. Alex caught him by the throat. He squeezed until Goldstein's eyes popped. He squeezed until the man turned purple.

"Alex, stop." It was Madeline. "Please Alex, let him go." Alex looked at her, she was trembling. "He did it on purpose." "I know," she answered.

Alex let loose, and Goldstein slumped to his chair.

"Are you all right?" Alex looked at Madeline.

"I am now," she answered.

Gage Farrow started to move, Alex had no choice he kicked him one more time, he kicked him good and hard. The man yelped and grabbed his groin. And then Alex led Madeline from the room.

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They were safe in the limo. Oliver looked at them in the mirror. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he realized it was bad. Madeline lay her head down on Alex. He held her.

"I'm sorry; I didn't think he would actually do it."

"Then you knew about the room?"

"Yes."

"But why would you have me believe it wasn't my room?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"I don't understand…why, did Leonard use my bedroom?"

"It is her bedroom, Madeline, not yours, it is Olivia Owen's."

"Olivia's…"

"Yes, don't you remember, you were there a long, long time ago?"

Madeline tried to think, her dreams, the beautiful lady in the black satin dress.

"That was Olivia?"

"Yes."

"And it is her story Leonard wrote?"

"Yes, Olivia's and Brett's."

"And she was murdered, there in that house, in that room?"

"In the house, Madeline, but not in the bedroom."

"Where then?" But before Alex could answer she realized the truth. Her throat closed as she uttered the words…"In the room of mirrors?"

"Yes."

She didn't speak for a long time. Alex watched as her eyes lowered, and she thought about the room hidden behind the closet.

"But who killed her?"

"They said it was a man named Ledford."

"But you don't believe that do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Then who?"

"I would suspect Leonard Goldstein."

"Leonard, why would Leonard want to kill Olivia?"

"He was in love with her."

Madeline looked at Alex. "I don't understand any of this. If he killed Olivia why would he write her story, wasn't he worried he might be caught, and why would he offer me this part?"

Alex looked toward Oliver. But Oliver couldn't or wouldn't say a word.

"I don't think he ever considered getting caught. He thinks he is above the law."

"I don't want to go back there. Please, take me someplace else."

"Where do you suggest?"

"The Beverly Hills Hotel, anyplace but there. I don't think I can ever go back in that room again."

"What about your apartment?"

"No, he gave me that apartment; I don't want anything to do with that man."

"All right, we'll go to a hotel, are you sure you want the Beverly Hills

Hotel?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay Oliver, take us to the hotel."

Her dreams were haunting. She was back with Olivia on that day. She remembered the beautiful chartreuse dress. She remembered Olivia's words. "Someday you will wear this dress!" And then she remembered she had worn it. She had found it again in Olivia's closet; she had been tempted to wear it. And then she was in the room of mirrors. She was watching the beautiful lady in the glass. She watched her, the dream seemed so real, and then she watched the shadow come toward Olivia. She saw Olivia's face, heard her scream and watched when she fell to the floor. But when she looked down at the floor it was not Olivia that she saw, but herself. And then she realized that she looked like Olivia. She heard the scream again, it frightened her, and then she knew…she was the one who was screaming. "Madeline…wake up!" She opened her eyes.

"What's the matter, why did you scream?"

"Alex…" "What?"

"How am I connected to Olivia?"

He realized that the time had come. He had waited for Oliver, but Oliver had not come forth. He braced himself for the words that he wished Oliver had used.

"Madeline…I love you."

"Tell me…"

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"Olivia Owen was your mother."

She didn't say anything, her eyes filled with tears. It was sometime later she ventured to ask.

"Then Brett Owen was my father?"

"There is some mystery surrounding that."

"What do you mean?" He listened to her question, he didn't know how to answer, she studied his eyes, they held such an odd reflection. "Oh, no, you

can't mean Leonard?"

"I'm not sure."

"He couldn't be my father."

He gently pulled her into him, and his arms encircled her. "Don't think about it now."

"That's all I can think about, who is my real father, and what about Oliver and Margaret, where do they fit into this?"

"They adopted you at birth."

"I don't believe it, why would Olivia let them adopt me?

"She felt she had no choice."

"Why wouldn't they tell me?"

"They loved you."

"But they never said a word."

"Oliver was kind enough to let Olivia see you; Margaret didn't want to share you."

"But why would Olivia give me up?"

"Because she had an affair with Leonard, but she loved Brett. When she found out that Leonard was only using her she had nothing more to do with him, but then she found out she was pregnant. Leonard told her to get rid of the child or he would ruin Brett. He promised her a contract if she left Brett alone. She didn't want anything to happen to Brett. Oliver arranged for Olivia to go away to the home in San Bernardino. You were delivered there by Doctor Gregory."

"Doctor Gregory?"

"Yes, Margaret went with Olivia, and you were given to her. But Olivia named you, and Margaret and Oliver respected her wishes."

"But Olivia married Brett."

"Yes, she came back without you, and Goldstein honored his deal. He gave her a contract. Later she did marry Brett, and they were happy, but Goldstein wanted Olivia."

"And you think he killed her?"

"I do."

"How can we prove it?"

"I have a key."

"A key?"

"Yes, to a safety deposit box, I think we should go there tomorrow." Madeline looked stunned.

"There was a woman named Stephanie Parkins, supposedly she witnessed the murder. But she too is long dead, probably killed by Goldstein. But her brother told me that she knew who killed Olivia, she was probably blackmailing Leonard, and I am going to find out what she was hiding in that box."

"How did you get the key?"

"Her brother sent it to me. I visited with him just before he met with an accident."

Madeline's eyes froze. "What do you mean?"

"He was killed last week, supposedly fell to his death. If Goldstein had him killed, and he suspects I know, neither one of us is safe."

"Is that why he used the room, to scare us?"

"I don't know, but it obviously worked."

"What about Oliver?"

"What about him?"

"Did you tell him you were going to tell me about Olivia?"

"I asked him to tell you."

"But he didn't."

"No, he didn't."

"I imagine it is too painful. I hope this doesn't kill him."

"You need to know the truth."

"I wish I had known sooner."

"Would it have changed anything?"

"It might have, I would never have gone to Leonard Goldstein."

"He used you, Madeline, he used you with Ricardo."

"I know."

"And he probably arranged for Roger's death also…"

"And framed me?"

"Possibly, I think he framed Brett also."

"Brett?"

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"Yes, Brett was arrested for Olivia's murder. But then Leonard changed his mind, and the gardener now sits in prison. His name is Hartman Ledford.

I guess Leonard realized that Brett meant money for the studio."

"And he thought I would come to him like Brett?"

"I'm not sure what he thought. But I know he is a very dangerous man."

"Then Oliver's not safe either."

"I presume not."

"Leonard will be looking for us."

"He will probably send Gage Farrow."

"Gage Farrow?"

"Yes, the man in Goldstein's office."

"Can't we go to the police?"

"I'm sure he has ties with the police."

"Where can we go?"

"We can go to Mexico…"

Madeline leaned into him and then she thought…

"Alex, do you think Leonard killed Ricardo?"

"I'm sure he arranged it. I'm also sure he wanted me to die in the bullring."

"You actually think that Leonard arranged for your accident?"

"Madeline, it was no accident."

"I thought you weren't supposed to kill the bull?"

"I wasn't, but then Leo sent me a telegram, kill the bull or walk. I wasn't sure I could walk away from you; I did as he asked, but remember no one came to my aid that day. Not even the young matador standing nearby. Leonard

Goldstein expected me to die."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't, and so he decided he would use me, both of us. Oliver was right."

"What do you mean?"

"Goldstein has to have control of everyone and everything. He has his hooks in us."

"I just don't understand. Why would he kill Ricardo and Roger, what harm could they do him?"

"They were an embarrassment to him and the studio. If anyone found out, his leading man would be at the end of his career. That would have an enormous effect on Sheridan Productions."

"But why you?"

"It's simple Madeline, he wants you! He couldn't have Olivia so he wants the next best thing, her daughter."

"But then I couldn't be his daughter."

"I was thinking the same thing…"

"Then Brett was my father."

"I would think so."

"Leonard Goldstein took everything from me. He took my family…he took my life."

"Madeline…"

"What?"

Alex touched her face, looked into her eyes. "You have a sister!"

Chapter 33

The old bank building sat snuggled between the hundreds of other old buildings in Los Angeles. Stephanie Parkins had looked for a place off the beaten path, away from Hollywood. She found this particular institution on one of her many ventures. It wasn't quite as popular as some, and she assumed that was even better. Alex realized she had carefully picked this place, her place of hiding. He studied the surrounding buildings, nothing out of the ordinary. But the old hotel next to it, the Carlisle Arms, was really quite beautiful, very ornate. He read the large glamorous sign out front and looked up. A skyscraper restaurant was featured at the top. He wondered about all the many stars that might have eaten there, looking out over the panoramic view of Los Angeles. And then he thought about Miss Parkins and the key tucked in his pocket. He couldn't wait to see exactly what she had been hiding.

Alex realized that he wanted the contents to remain a secret until he could search through all the papers and get the information to the proper authorities, someone not on the take. He realized that would take a great deal of work and effort. He assumed everyone in Hollywood to be on the take. He had come to the conclusion that Leonard Goldstein was probably connected to the mob in some way, and that he possibly owned bits and pieces of everything and everyone. Alex knew it would be hard to find someone who was honest. He thought about Sloan Sotherby, he wondered if he too was on the take.

He had done a lot of soul searching in the last few days, who he could trust and who not. He was even worried that Oliver might have slipped and mentioned something to someone. Oliver had asked him about Kenneth Parkins. But Alex insisted that Mr. Parkins had refused to tell him anything. And in essence he hadn't.

Alex might have let it lie, but then he found the news of Parkins' accidental death. It was not a large article; in fact the obituary was as obscure as the man, himself. Alex almost passed it up, but then he caught the name Parkins. The article stated that Mr. Parkins had taken a fall in his backyard. He had hit

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his head on the cement piling. The last line listed him as a brother of the now deceased gossip columnist…Stephanie Parkins.

Alex had thought about his last words with Kenneth Parkins. If Leonard Goldstein found out that Kenneth knew anything, he too would end up at the bottom of Mulholland Drive. He wasn't too far off. But again how did Leonard know about his meeting with Mr. Parkins. He wondered if Goldstein was having them followed. He hadn't expected anymore to come of it. But then he was presented with the key, a god send. He had checked in the phone book for an address on the bank.

Alex hadn't told Oliver anymore than needed, that he was having funds transferred there. If Oliver thought it to be odd he hadn't reacted. He probably figured a bank was just a bank, and maybe this one had ties with Mexico.

Alex had specifically asked Madeline not to share any information with Oliver about the key. It would be better if Oliver were unaware of the safety deposit box. He explained to her that what Oliver didn't know couldn't hurt him; it would be for his own safety. She didn't argue with that. She had noticed her father wearing the strain of the last few days both in his face and his body. She realized he would be safer not knowing. Whatever, Oliver had transported them there without questioning.

Alex had requested Madeline carry a large bag for their outing. He did not want to raise unnecessary suspicion. She looked radiant in her bright yellow polka dotted dress. The bag was the same shade as her dress. In fact it is for that reason she wore the dress. He had requested something large, and the dress was an afterthought. She had purchased both in a little shop in Beverly Hills.

Alex had looked upon her and smiled his approval. Even Oliver had looked at her. She looked striking. The last few days had taken its toll on all of them. They had wondered if and when the pendulum would swing. They had not been to the studio in four days. Goldstein must be seething. Alex was sure that he must have called Oliver, but Oliver had quit taking any calls. He too had been staying at the hotel with them, out of sight. If they were being followed, they had yet to be accosted. They realized that sooner or later they would be returning the limo to the home but that could wait. They would use it as long as they deemed necessary. They also realized Goldstein would be suing them for breach of contract. But there was no way in hell Madeline would ever step foot on that set again!

They had walked in together. He held her arm and smiled. Oliver was left reading the morning paper. They had been shown to the room of privacy. They had waited for the man to leave and then Alex had removed the key from his pocket. He slipped it into the numbered square and pulled on the long, metal box. There was a small table and chair there for their convenience, he offered the chair to Madeline, and then he placed the box on top. And now they were in the midst of discovering Stephanie's mode of blackmail.

Alex looked through some of the papers. He found a small diary and opened it. He studied some of the lines neatly written there. No one would have ever thought, never suspected that Miss Parkins had thoughtfully recorded every piece of history…names; dates and places, all were kept in perfect order, and all were here, tucked away for future reference. A little security for the inevitable, only the inevitable had happened before she made her evidence known. Whether Leonard Goldstein ever knew or ever suspected that she kept a secret diary or hiding place would also never be known.

Madeline spotted the photos first. She reached out and touched the glossy prints. Her face went white, her hands started shaking, and she dropped the pictures to the floor. They splattered face up. Alex looked down. The black and whites took on a bold look of the dead. How in the world had Stephanie gotten her hands on those particular pictures? Only the coroner or police would have access to them.

Olivia's body lay naked on the floor, in the room of mirrors. There were several shots of her, some close ups. Alex could see the marks on her neck, bruises on her face and torso. She had obviously put up a struggle.

For a moment Alex felt sick. He could see how much the two women looked alike. Olivia had been exceptional. He thought about the stark reality that they were mother and daughter, and that Olivia had been murdered. Someone had strangled her to death. The thought was very strange; a beautiful, young mother had been brutally beaten and killed.

Why had Stephanie Parkins kept these photos? There must be something there in the pictures, something that might point to a killer. But he realized now was not the time or the place. He looked at Madeline, obviously shaken by the vision of death.

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He reached down and quickly picked up the photos, he reached for her handbag, she didn't offer any resistance. She watched him as he carefully placed them inside. He gathered the papers on the table and then fumbled in the box for the remaining pieces of information. He filed them in the bag along with the others. But the diary he didn't want to let go of. He thought it was small enough to fit in his coat pocket. He fumbled with it, but found it simply did not fit. It too would have to be transported in the large yellow bag. He placed the metal box back in the wall and turned the key. He knew he had to get Madeline back through the lobby.

"Madeline, I know you're upset, but no matter what, please do not mention the box or its contents."

She did not answer. He stopped to look at her. "Do you understand? I don't want anyone to know about this." She looked up…she looked at him…she looked through him. "Madeline, do you hear me…" He touched her face. "Please…"

"I understand."

"Good, just stay with me a little while longer. We have to go back with Oliver; I don't want him to see you so upset. I know it was a shock, but I don't want Oliver to know, not now."

He helped her to her feet. She was wobbly. He took the bag and held her arm. He walked her out the door and down the hallway. He looked around.

"Can you make it to the car?"

"I think I'm going to be sick!" She turned to look for the sign and then she ran. Alex looked after her and followed. He was standing outside the lavatory. He waited for a few minutes and then pushed on the door. A large rather matronly woman stood at the sink. She registered a look of shock on her face at seeing a gentleman open the door.

"I'm sorry, I'm checking on my wife." The words flowed easily, he didn't even hesitate.

The woman looked at him strangely, he still had the large yellow bag on his arm, and then she pointed to the stall.

"I hope you don't mind? She said she was feeling ill." He really didn't care one way or the other, but waited for an answer. The woman's mouth dropped open, and then she turned around and walked toward the door. Alex managed a small thank you and then walked toward the stall.

When they were alone he touched on the door. "Madeline…" There was no answer. "Madeline, are you all right?" He pushed the door open; she was there on the floor, white as a sheet.

"I'm so sorry; I would have never brought you here if I'd known." He felt the pain as he spoke.

She didn't answer.

"I have an idea; I'll tell Oliver we are going to have lunch at the Carlisle. I'll tell him he can take a few hours leave. There must be some things he would like to take care of." He looked at her for a response. She didn't move.

"Madeline, I'll just be a few minutes." He started to leave and remembered he was holding the large bag. "Is it safe to leave this with you?" She looked up at him, looked at the bag and nodded. He wasn't sure he should leave, he wasn't sure of anything.

"Oh, what the hell," he muttered and turned to leave, holding the bag as he did so. And then he stopped for a minute to rethink his actions. It was only a brief moment, but he found he felt a lot better. At least the contents would be safe with him. "I'll be right back." And then he walked out the door.

He drew a few looks as he walked through the bank and out to the waiting limo. Oliver looked up from his paper wondering where Madeline was and why Alex was carrying her bag.

"A trip to the ladies room and yes, I got left holding the bag." He tried to sound chipper, and then continued…"Oliver, if you don't mind, I thought I would take Madeline to the restaurant next door. They say it is excellent, and I think she deserves something special. You can come back for us in a couple of hours, if that is all right with you?"

Oliver smiled. "Yes, I think that would be good for Madeline. I'll go do some errands; anything you want me to pick up?"

"Not now, but I do need to get some clothes."

"A last trip back to the Owen home?"

"Yes, but later without Madeline."

"That can be arranged."

"Good, I'll see you in awhile."

"I'll be back in a few hours."

"Thank you, Oliver."

"No problem, Alex."

Alex stood at the curb for a moment watching Oliver pull away and drive on down the block. He watched him turn at the next corner. He had an uneasy feeling as he walked back into the bank to get Madeline.

The room at the top was just as had been expected, a circular room of windows. The view outside was spectacular, a sky rise view of Los Angeles.

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They had taken the elevator up; he had held her close to him. They were shown to a booth by a window. Madeline had walked quietly by his side. She had leaned into him, and he had lent her his support. They were now seated, and he studied her for a few minutes, her eyes so very far away. He was really sorry he had brought her here, not just here but to the bank. He should have known.

The waiter had left menus. Alex realized she would not want to eat, but he would order for her anyway. He had asked the waiter for a bottle of wine. The waiter was there, now popping the cork. The man must have realized Madeline was not feeling well. He poured her glass and waited for her to taste. Alex shook his head and motioned for him to pour his glass. He then tasted the wine and gave his approval. And then he thought…"Would you bring her a glass of brandy, please?" The waiter was back in a short amount of time; he must have realized the lady needed something stronger.

"Thank you, we'll order later."

Alex waited for Madeline to drink the brandy. When she didn't, he offered her the glass. "Drink some, please…" He remembered the last time he offered her brandy. It seemed so long ago. She took the glass from him and looked at him. She tasted from the crystal container. She made a face, gagged and set the glass down. "I can't do this."

"What?"

"I can't do this anymore."

"You can't do what anymore?"

"I can't do any of this anymore…"

"You don't have to; I'll take care of everything."

He sat for a moment in silence; she didn't dare look at him. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of Olivia. She would never be able to get the pictures of death out of her head. He watched her and knew exactly what she was thinking. He looked out the window and realized that soon they would have to face Oliver, a thought he was not looking forward to. Would Madeline be able to keep quiet, he very much doubted it. He urged her to drink some wine. She relented and sipped from the glass. He ordered another bottle; at least he could drown out some of the images.

She stood next to him in the elevator. She was still shaken by the events of the day. She had forgone the brandy but had tasted the wine. She was quiet, she never ate a thing. Alex had ordered but hardly ate his lunch either. The waiter hadn't questioned them. He realized she was ill. Alex had paid the bill and escorted her to the lift. They were alone riding down to earth. The elevator stopped. "Are you all right?" he questioned her. "Yes…" Her words were soft.

"Would you like me to carry the bag?"

"No, I'll be fine."

"Oliver should be waiting, if not we can sit in the lobby."

The doors opened and they stepped out. They had only taken a few steps when a man jolted into them, knocking Madeline off her feet, she fell to the floor. Alex dropped beside her. Before he could do anything the man grabbed the big yellow bag and ran. Alex looked at Madeline and then ran after the man. He got stopped in the large revolving door at the entrance. He looked at the man on the other side, he didn't recognize him.

The man exited the door and ran down the street to the north. When Alex got around to the walkway the man had disappeared. He looked back to the south and saw Oliver waiting in the limo. He was reading his paper. Alex then turned and went back inside the Carlisle.

"I'm so sorry; we've never had anything like this happen before." The manager was there beside Madeline, helping her to her feet. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered.

"I'm afraid he got away," Alex offered as he approached.

"Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry, he got everything."

"Yes, he did."

"Should I call the police?" the manager asked.

"No, I will call when I get back to our hotel."

"Are you sure, it won't take but a minute."

"No, I don't want to wait. My wife is not feeling well."

The manager looked to Madeline. He could see she was not feeling well.

Not just shaken by the assault but physically sick.

"Again, I am so sorry," he offered.

"It wasn't your fault."

"My name is David Sommers, if you need anything, anytime; I will be here at your service…Mr.?"

"Vivanco, Alejandro Vivanco."

"Mr. Vivanco, I am sorry we had to meet under these unfortunate circumstances. But I am going to inform our hotel security."

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"Thank you." Alex started to escort Madeline out."

"Alex, really, I am so sorry." She looked up at him, waiting for his response.

"Madeline, don't worry, as long as you're fine."

"I'm fine."

"That's all that matters."

"But what about your evidence?"

"We'll talk about it later, but please don't mention the contents to Oliver."

"He'll have to know about the bag, it's obviously gone," she responded sadly.

"Yes, we'll tell him that part but nothing else."

Chapter 34

"I've booked us a flight in the morning, Mexico City!"

"In the morning?"

"Yes, I don't think we're safe here anymore."

"What about Oliver?"

"I told him he's welcome to come with us."

"And what did he say?"

"He wants to wait for a few days, tie up some loose ends."

"I wish he would come with us."

"I think he will be fine. I have given him enough money to cover his flight and expenses. He has assured me he will be following us in a few days."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! His main concern is you, you understand that don't you?"

"I guess."

"It's you Goldstein wants. I am sure he will do anything to keep you here."

"But he knows where you live in Mexico?"

"Yes, but he will be dealing with Mexican law there. I happen to know many of the local federali. Anyway, in a few weeks I am taking you on a long vacation."

Her eyes widened at his words. "A long vacation?"

"A very long vacation…"

"Paris…?"

"Paris, whatever you want. But Italy should be beautiful this time of year.

I bet you've never been there either?"

"Alex…" "What?"

"I've never been anywhere but Mexico, with Ricardo."

"I'm sorry it had to be with him, it really is quite beautiful."

"I honestly don't remember, didn't want to remember."

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"Well, this time it is with me, I will make it well worth your time." He drew her in and touched her lips with his finger, outlining their fullness. She touched her tongue to her lip, tempting him. He didn't need much temptation.

He tore at her clothing; the bright yellow dress fell to the floor. Her hands flew to his trousers. The chilling events of the day had exploded in desire. They dropped to the floor, never reaching the bed. His mouth searched her lips, her mouth and then every crevice of her body. He let his tongue glide over her softness and then he turned her over onto her stomach. His mouth continued to make love to her, touching places along her spine that brought soft moaning gasps. He lifted his body directly over hers, touching himself to her…teasing. He felt so good…hard! She closed her eyes, her breathing erratic. She felt the pounding of his heart, the blood flowing through his veins. When his body finally met hers, his movements sent her spiraling.

He had left Madeline in the hotel. He told her he was taking one last trip to the house. She had cringed. She didn't want him to go; she didn't want him to leave her, ever. He assured her he would be okay, Oliver would be with him. He wanted his clothing, his personal items. She still wasn't convinced it was safe for him, but he left her there, and he worried, not about himself but for her. There were no other options. He had to go to the house one last time. Call it curiosity, or anything else, but he knew he must go. He thought about it again, he really didn't want to leave her alone, but realized she would never last a moment in the Owen home. She had been a bundle of nerves since that day in the studio. Today had only magnified the danger of their situation, Goldstein would stop at nothing! Alex had told her to lock the door behind him and not to open it to anyone.

He and Oliver were in the limo, one last drive to the large old home in the hills. The night was chilly; a low blanket of fog had descended down upon them. Oliver drove slow looking for the street signs. He turned down the block of homes, and Alex looked out into the night. The house looked dark, unoccupied, the way it had looked that first evening. But that night he had not felt the apprehension he now felt. Oliver pulled up into the long narrow drive. He stopped at the front entrance. Oliver got out and came around, opening the door for Alex.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, it's something I have to do."

"You know I can gather your things for you?"

"No, Oliver…I want to go inside, one last time."

"Then I'll park the car around in the back, hopefully, no one will know." "That's fine." Alex stepped out and turned to look at the door.

"I'll meet you inside in a minute; you have the key don't you?"

Alex reached to his pocket, for a second he thought about Oliver's words, exactly which key was he referring to? He remembered he had both keys in his pocket, along with the hotel key. He thought about the safety deposit box. He thought about the man who had mugged them. How had the man known?

Alex looked up at the house in the darkness. He felt the tingling of fear and thought himself foolish. He wanted to push the ghostly images in the back of his mind, the ghostly images and any other images that were there ready to pounce on him.

He walked up the steps and took the larger key out. He watched the limo move up the driveway and then disappear. He put the key into the lock and turned it. He remembered his first time here, his first day in Los Angeles. The door opened and he stepped inside, nothing out of the ordinary. He knew his way around, he didn't bother to turn on the light in the foyer, he didn't want to arouse any suspicion.

The moon drifted through the glass doors, he could see the sparkling reflection of the pool in the night. He wished he had time to enjoy it one last time. He turned back to look through the great room. He could see the piano, the photos on top. He remembered the photos of the Hollywood legends. He remembered them well. Now, all of them, ghosts of the past. Again, he felt the chill of the word ghost. He found the stairs and looked up to the landing. Would she be waiting for him? He started his climb. He looked to her room. The door was closed. Somehow he wanted to touch it once again. He reached out his hand but something held him back. He wasn't sure he was up to seeing Olivia Owen at this time. He realized that she didn't mean him any harm. But still he was not anxious to see her. He walked on by, going toward his room.

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His bedroom was just as he had left it. It had only been a week. He turned on the smaller lamp in the room and went to the closet. He grabbed his large case and started packing his clothes, not as neat as he would have, but at this point he didn't care. The grand tuxedo and white dinner jacket were the last to be placed inside. He grabbed his personal items and filled his smaller case. He looked around, making sure he had not forgotten anything. He waited for Oliver but Oliver didn't show.

He stood by the bedside, wondering about the book that lay inside the bottom drawer. He opened the drawer, but the book was gone. Who had been here? He felt the tingling again in his heart. One might call it a rise of fear. He didn't want to think about it. He wondered exactly what was holding up Oliver, he should have been there by now.

Alex didn't want to wait any longer. He picked up the large piece of luggage in one arm and the smaller case in the other. He moved out the door and started down the hall. He had purposely left the small lamp on, and he was navigating toward the staircase. He started to pass Olivia's room. That haunting, eerie feeling came over him again. And then suddenly the lamp from his bedroom was dimmed. He started to turn, to look back at his room, and then everything went black.

She found herself in the room of mirrors. She was wearing the chartreuse dress. She thought for a moment she was dreaming. She concentrated on the voice talking to her. She recognized it, but it only brought fear. She turned around and around to see who was there in the room. Where was Brett? She wanted to cry out to him, but her voice froze.

Then she saw him. He was coming toward her, but it was not Brett. Again, she tried to scream…nothing! He came to her and pushed her down, down on the lounge. She tried to get up, but he pushed her again. She felt the sting of his hand across her face. She fell back, and then he was on top of her.

Suddenly she saw the other man; he was coming to her rescue, Oliver Chadwick. He tried pulling the man off of her. He hit the man to the ground. But then someone else entered the room, someone she didn't recognize at first, a younger man, Gage Farrow. He ran and jumped on Oliver. There was a scuffle. Farrow was beating on Oliver, beating him to the ground. And then she heard the shot. Gage Farrow fell to the floor. Oliver held the gun in his hand, Farrow's gun.

She heard the scream, her scream. Oliver had saved her. And then he stood up, Leonard Goldstein! "And what do you think you are going to do? Shoot me, too?" Oliver tried to get to his feet. "If I have to, I will," he answered.

"That would be very interesting, you shooting me," Goldstein spoke smugly.

"I told you to leave her alone," Oliver whispered as he wiped at the blood on his mouth. He was old; tired, he had fought Gage Farrow. He realized he would probably now be lying dead, if he hadn't reached for the gun. He wasn't sure how he had maneuvered it away from Farrow.

"Did you really think I would let her leave?" Goldstein asked sharply.

"I told you, it is over." Oliver felt the heaviness of his heart.

"It's over when I say it's over."

"Not this time, Leonard, I am through taking orders from you."

"That sounds strange coming from you." "It may sound strange, but it's the truth."

"Well, that's refreshing, have you told her the truth?"

Oliver stopped talking for a moment. He studied Leonard; just how far was he willing to take this. And then he answered.

"She knows everything she needs to know."

But Goldstein was ready to take it further. His eyes sparked with contempt. His was actually shocked that Oliver was still standing; it should be him on the floor, not Gage Farrow.

"Does she know who killed her mother?"

Olivia stood there looking at the two men, Leonard Goldstein and Oliver Chadwick. What were they talking about, her mother? Then she looked into the mirrors, she turned round and round and round. Who was it there in the looking glass; the reflection looked like her, Olivia Owen. This was her home, her room, but where was Brett? Why wasn't he there to protect her? She looked back again to her image. The figure, the face, the eyes, and then she realized the truth. She was not Olivia! She was Madeline!

"Go ahead, why don't you tell her?"

"Shut up!" Oliver looked to Goldstein, that damn smug face of his. "It was you who beat her, raped her. I only tried to stop you."

"But you couldn't, remember?" Leo's eyes were sparking as he spoke.

"I remember, I remember everything. I told you to leave her alone. I begged you to leave her alone, you wouldn't. I should have killed you then."

"You weren't man enough."

Oliver smiled a cocky little smile…"Well, I'm man enough to do it now."

"I hardly think so but go ahead, why don't you finish the story."

"That is the story. You are the reason Olivia died."

"I may be the reason, but you better think for a minute."

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Oliver lowered the gun, listening carefully to Goldstein's words.

"You do remember don't you?"

"I told you to shut up…"

"I'm afraid I can't." Leo looked amused. "Oliver, think back, you are the one who killed her."

Oliver looked stunned and then his gaze went to the lady in the mirrors…looking, searching for her reaction. She looked from Oliver to Leonard…her eyes fell; her heart felt the sting of Leonard's words.

"Go ahead, tell her how you put your hands around Olivia's neck and strangled the life out of her."

"I didn't…"

"You did! You were so afraid I would take your little girl away from you."

Oliver cowered for a moment before answering. He felt the weight of Leonard's words. "That is what you threatened, that you would take her away from Margaret and me, that you could prove she was your child, but you lied."

"And I would have taken her away."

"But you couldn't."

"But I would."

"Brett told me before he died; you could never father any child. You're impotent…you bastard!"

"It doesn't alter the fact that you killed her, not I."

Oliver felt the blow of Leonard's words. He had killed Olivia. Not out of hate or anything else, but because Leonard had ordered him to do so. He had threatened to take Madeline away. Oliver knew Margaret would die if she lost her little girl.

He remembered that night, he had heard her screams. He had left Brett on the couch and gone back outside to the limousine. But he had watched Goldstein drive up in Brett's new car. He waited to see what Goldstein was going to do. He didn't have to wait long, Goldstein entered the house. Oliver thought Leo would come back out when he realized Brett was on the couch, but of course Leo didn't. Oliver made the decision to go back into the house. It was then when he was walking toward the front door, he noticed the Hudson parked down the block…the headlights were still on. It wouldn't be until later that both he and Leonard would come to realize that Stephanie Parkins had followed Goldstein. She waited patiently to see what was going to happen.

Oliver entered the house; Leo was nowhere to be seen. Brett was still out cold. Oliver stopped to check on him and then heard the blood curdling scream. At first he was afraid to venture up the stairs. He waited and listened. He heard her scream again, and realized it was Olivia. He started up the staircase. The door to the bedroom stood open. He entered, afraid of what he would find. But the room was empty. He started to leave, but he heard the muffled scream. He turned back and walked toward the closet. The doors were open and he looked in. He almost didn't notice the light from the secret room. But the sounds were obviously coming from there.

Oliver had walked in on them. By the time he entered the room of mirrors, Leonard had assaulted her, raped her, and she was lying there on the lounge. She looked unconscious, but then she made a soft moaning sound. "Go ahead…finish her." For a moment Oliver didn't understand Goldstein's words. "Do it! Do you understand what I said?"

"You're crazy," Oliver had answered. But then Goldstein had laid the bomb…"Crazy enough to take that child of yours."

Oliver had registered the words. "What in the hell do you mean?"

"She's not yours, she's mine, and she always has been."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? Think about it, you know I'm telling the truth." Oliver didn't move, he couldn't react.

His mind took him back to those many years before…that fatal night. He could hear Goldstein clearly, as he had before.

"I said put your hands around her throat and kill her or you and your wife will lose the little girl."

Oliver remembered. He remembered walking over to Olivia, looking at her, she was so very lovely. "Do it…do you understand? If not you will lose everything." Oliver looked to Goldstein. Goldstein's face was red with anger… hate. The vessels in his forehead pumped, and his eyes sent chills up Oliver's spine. Oliver turned to walk away…he couldn't do it. Olivia moved and Goldstein screamed. "God damn you, I'll kill your wife and child if you don't do it!"

Oliver looked back; Leonard Goldstein meant what he said. Oliver had heard the rumors about Leo. He thought he had no choice. He put his hands around her throat, felt the softness. Leonard goaded him on…"her or the little girl?"

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He had strangled Olivia to death. Leonard had won out, he always won out. Oliver looked down at what he had done. He fell to the floor. "Get up you fool, we've got to get out of here before Brett wakes up."

Leonard kicked at Oliver. "Do you understand, get up or you'll spend the rest of your life behind bars. No more little girl or wife." Oliver had risen and walked out of the room and down the stairs. He had looked one last time at Brett. When he got to the car he almost passed out. Goldstein got back in Brett's Cadillac and followed the limo home.

A few days later Goldstein received the call from Stephanie. She told him she had followed him that night. She knew the details of Olivia's murder. She had proof. What proof Leo never found out, but he always let Oliver sweat with the thought she knew it was Chadwick. Actually, Stephanie always thought it was Goldstein, himself, who did the deed. She informed him that she would forget the whole story if he made it worth her while. She needed a job. She was willing to start at the top. And then she laughed. Goldstein knew she meant business. He paved the way for the new gossip columnist. Years later she tried to raise the stakes. Goldstein thought about it. He wasn't ready to be blackmailed anymore. He arranged for Gage Farrow to take care of Miss Parkins. She had a very bad accident.

Goldstein let Oliver keep the child. He never had any intention of taking her, but it was always held over Chadwick's head. He let him continue to work for the studio; he let him continue to drive. Goldstein knew he had Oliver right where he wanted him.

Oliver had tried to block that night from his mind, from his life. He realized Leonard had used him, but knew the consequences, they would always be held over his head. And now he was at a loss.

Suddenly, Oliver was back in the present. He remembered everything. He looked at Goldstein, and then he looked away for a moment to the little girl he adored. He saw the look in her eyes, felt her repulse.

They both heard the second shot. Both looked to Goldstein. He held the small pistol in his hand. Oliver dropped Farrow's pistol and touched at his chest. His hands filled with blood, and then he fell to the floor. Madeline rushed to her father. Goldstein grabbed her and threw her back on the floor.

Her head hit the wooden leg of the lounge. She looked dazed.

"Stop it Leonard!"

He looked toward Madeline, but the words had not come from Madeline.

"Do you hear me?"

He looked up to the mirrors, she was standing there. She looked as beautiful as ever, dressed in the lovely creation of chartreuse. He blinked his eyes, searching the mirror for her reflection. "Yes, Leonard, it's me, Olivia." "Olivia?" His voice trembled.

"Yes, you can see me." His hand started shaking, and he shot through the glass into her image. But as he watched, the mirrors shattered, and she glided out into the room. He backed up, but she moved into his body.

"What do you want?" he blustered.

"I can't let you hurt my little girl." She looked to Madeline lying on the floor. She heard the shot ring out. She looked back to Goldstein, he was wildeyed and breathless. He pulled the trigger again and again. She didn't move. She reached out to him. He started to shake, tried to avoid her touch. But she moved closer to him, her hand outstretched. He watched as she touched at his heart, brushing past his hand. Her hand was cold and clammy; he felt the touch of the dead.

He turned to leave the room, she followed. He stopped at the door and fired again and again until the cartridge was spent…he then dropped the gun. He pulled the door closed, walking backward through the closet to the bedroom. She followed him, passing through the closed door. She smiled at him, her hand still outstretched to him. The closet lit up with her presence. All of her beautiful clothing and furs seem to come alive, as if reaching out to touch her once again.

Leonard Goldstein felt his heart beat out of control. He fumbled through the closet and into the room of chartreuse. He looked around at the room he tried to duplicate. That had certainly been a mistake, he realized that now. He should have let well enough alone. His mind reeled with the thoughts of what he had done and for whom. He had wanted Madeline Montoya. He paused for a moment trying to come to his senses. In his mind he knew she couldn't be real, there was no such thing as a ghost. But then she came through the closet door and he faced the stark reality that she was there, ghost or whatever. She was backing him up to the bedroom door. The door stood half open, and he hit the door jam. He felt the pain and touched at his shoulder. She smiled at him again. He panicked, walking backward toward the hall and the staircase.

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He couldn't take his eyes off of her…not for a second. "I hope you will always remember me…" Her words drifted through the air as she came flying toward him, her hands beckoning him, welcoming him to her arms. He felt the rise of terror at the ghostly apparition. She was real, she was very real. She touched him again, her hand on his chest. He felt the prick, the piece of the iceberg as it tipped his skin and flowed through his body to his heart. He remembered back, oh, how he had wanted her.

He looked around, looked for an escape. But there was none. There was no one there to help him, rescue him. He realized he was getting what he always wanted…her!

And now she wanted him. He stepped back, searching her eyes, realizing her true intention. Yes, she wanted him all right. She wanted him dead! And then his foot missed the step.

Chapter 35

When Alex came to his senses, he was surrounded by police officers. He had a large lump on the back of his head, compliments of Gage Farrow. Gage had cold cocked him and placed him back in his room. Alex looked around the room, where was Oliver?

"Mrs. Montoya is fine." The officer seemed to think he was looking for Madeline.

"Mrs. Montoya, what do you mean?"

"She had a very narrow escape, but she is all right. She hit her head on the lounge. I don't think she remembers everything that happened? We have someone looking after her now."

"I don't understand, what happened?"

"Well, you were hit on the head…pretty hard by the looks of that knot."

Alex touched at the back of his head, grimaced in pain and looked back at the officer.

"Where is Oliver?"

"Who is Oliver?"

"Her father, the chauffeur?"

The officer looked at Alex. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Oliver was dead, shot through the heart. The other man at the bottom of the stairs was dead, a broken neck. The third man was still breathing but barely.

"Do you think you can come with me?"

Alex looked up at the man. He nodded and then tried to stand. The officer helped him to his feet, and they walked down the hall. Alex noticed that now the house was well lit, every light glowing. His luggage still sat in the hallway.

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The man led him to the room; he felt the rise in his heart. They were stepping into the closet, going toward the room of mirrors. The officer studied Alex, wondering if he knew about the secret room. They entered and Alex saw the two men lying on the floor. The medics were working on the one man, the other lay dead, covered with a sheet. Madeline was on the lounge. She looked up at him, tears welled in her eyes. He walked toward her and sat down next to her. His arm went around her, and she put her head on his chest.

"I love you Madeline."

Later that night, when they were safe back at the hotel, they lay there together and tried to piece together the events of that evening. She had received the call from Oliver, he had told her to come to the house, to hurry and then the phone went dead. They realized that Oliver had met up with Gage, possibly after the bodyguard had taken care of Alex. Gage had persuaded him to call Madeline…probably at gunpoint. Oliver had been left unconscious, Goldstein had made that clear, no one was to be killed until the scene was set. And then Gage had gone to check on the Matador and wait for Madeline.

She had taken a cab. She had walked into the house. She had come through the large living room, climbed the stairs, the room of chartreuse was open. She entered. That was the last thing she remembered.

Gage Farrow had used chloroform on her. He had placed her in the room of mirrors. She had a rendezvous with Mr. Goldstein. Leo was there waiting for her.

Madeline awoke in the room of glass. She was lying on the lounge. Her head felt strange, she was dizzy. And then he entered, Leonard Goldstein. She had tried to fight him off. He had slapped her, and then she remembered Oliver coming to help her. And then the other man, Gage Farrow had entered the room. She remembered them fighting, she remembered the sound of the shot being fired, Farrow lying on the floor, and then her mind flooded. She remembered everything that was said that night. She remembered who killed her mother. And then Leonard had shot and killed her father.

Madeline had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that Oliver had been the one to strangle Olivia. The father she loved, a murderer. That seemed so very strange; he had always been so kind, so loving to both her and her mother. And then she thought, Margaret was really not her mother, Olivia was. Olivia had been killed so that Oliver and Margaret would not lose their little girl.

She had lost both sets of parents. Leonard Goldstein had ruined everything in her life. She thought about her marriage to Ricardo. That too had been one of Leonard's follies. She thought about Roger Bennington, that Leonard had set her up for that fall. She knew who's dagger lay deep in Roger, it was Ricardo's, kept in the glass case in the entry, a gift from Roger. Whoever killed Roger used it on purpose, to frame her. Whether Oliver had been a part of any of it, would always remain a mystery. She just hoped that he hadn't been involved in Leo's plan. It was hard to remove the love that still lay in her heart for the only father she had ever known.

It didn't come as a shock to Alex though. Somehow he had thought about Oliver. The results of the mugging and Kenneth Parkins, he had come to the conclusion that Oliver was still employed by Goldstein. He knew he loved Madeline, but then again Leonard held something over him. And now Alex realized what Goldstein had.

Oliver had killed Olivia. He had not wanted to risk losing his only child, or his wife. He knew that Goldstein was capable of both. Leonard had tricked him into murder. Oliver had been duped into believing that Leonard was Madeline's natural father, that Leonard held the truth neatly locked away.

"So Brett is my natural father?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry I never came to know him."

"That isn't your fault."

"I wonder why Leonard continued to have Oliver drive for Brett."

"To keep tabs on him. I suspect that Leonard was always afraid Brett might come to know the truth."

"I guess we'll never be able to prove anything about Goldstein."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't want to tell you, but something told me not to put the diary into the bag…"

"What?"

"I put it in my lapel pocket, I jammed it in but it is there. I am turning it over to Sloan Sotherby. I think he is a good man. I also think he can use it to have the verdict overturned on Ledford. The man is innocent; somehow he needs to be vindicated."

"Oh, Alex, I can't believe everything that has happened since I met you."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"It is for the most part good…very good."

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She snuggled up to him, and he found that he still felt the same way he did that first time he ever saw her in Goldstein's office. He wanted to taste of the Matador's wife.

Their trip to Mexico was put on hold for a few weeks. They spent the next few days arranging the funeral for Oliver. He would be placed next to Margaret in the old Hollywood Cemetery. Strange it was the resting place of Valentino. There was only the immediate family there, Oliver's sister and her husband and their children. Afterward they went to Casa Grande and had lunch with the family. No one would ever know about Oliver's transgression. Madeline and Alex would take it to their graves.

Leonard Goldstein was given a huge send off. A star studded funeral. Everyone in Hollywood was there, a great tribute to a great man. His internment was near Ricardo's, a marbled mausoleum…his name in big bold print. The studio saw to everything. Madeline and Alex were among those, not in attendance.

Farrow had also taken his last breath. The studio also gave him a send off, but only a pauper's burial. It was assumed that Gage Farrow and Oliver Chadwick had engaged in some sort of argument. What it was over would never be discovered, another Hollywood mystery. They had shot each other, end of story.

Leonard Goldstein was made to be an innocent, at least for now. He had fallen to his death. Alex and Madeline would have to wait until Sloan Sotherby had pieced together the entire puzzle and had implicated Goldstein before the whole story could be told.

Stephanie Parkins' neat little diary had all the facts that pointed to Goldstein as the killer. Alex realized that Stephanie never really knew who killed Olivia; she had only followed and watched Goldstein enter the house. But her blackmailing had proven to be worthwhile at least for a few years.

What had happened to Stephanie Parkins might be hard to prove. The evidence had been removed, only the diary remained. It, of course, had no knowledge of her upcoming accident on Mulholland Drive. But the facts and characters could be laid to rest now. Justice had been administered.

They were back in the hotel room. Their bags were packed. They would be leaving in the morning.

"At one time you believed that I had killed Roger, didn't you?"

"Yes, it came to mind."

"And you disposed of the dagger didn't you?"

"Madeline…"

"Yes…"

"I would do anything to protect you, I thought you knew that?"

"Did you ever suspect Oliver?"

"No, Oliver was with me that night. It had to be Gage Farrow. Something Leo asked him to do."

"He was the man Eileen saw?"

"I would presume so. I think Leonard had sent Roger to check on you."

"Roger?"

"Yes, when you ran off, Goldstein was furious. He was so mad at Ricardo but couldn't afford to lose him at the time."

"So he sent Roger…"

"Yes, it was a scam, but Roger did as he was told. I don't think Leo realized where you were. But he sent Gage along to kill Roger. And Gage was still there when you found Roger; he hit you over the head and left you nearby."

"So that everyone would assume I had killed Roger?"

"That was his intent."

"And it was his car parked down the street?"

"Yes, the car was gone when Oliver and I got there, just you and Roger in the foyer."

"I will never forget the look on his face when he came toward me, I didn't see the blood at first or the dagger, but then he fell forward, I know I screamed, that is all I remember."

"And of course, Ricardo assumed you had done the deed?"

"Yes, and you covered for me."

"I did what I had to do."

"I wonder what Goldstein thought, hoping I would get caught?"

"I would never let that happen. If it came to it, I would have taken the blame."

"You…"

"Yes!

"But why?"

"Possibly, a little retribution for my past sins?"

Chapter 36

On the morning of their departure, Sloan Sotherby asked if he and his chauffeur might drive them to the airport. They accepted his kind offer. They were in his town car traveling toward the Los Angeles Airport.

"It's very nice of you to take us, Mr. Sotherby," Madeline smiled as she spoke.

"I felt I needed to. I have been holding onto some of your property for a very long time."

"What do you mean?"

Alex looked to Sotherby, wondering about his words. "Your father asked me to give this to you." He held out an old leather bound book, a diary.

"My father?"

"Yes."

But when she opened the book it was not Oliver Chadwick's name that appeared on the inside ledger, but Brett Owen's.

"I don't understand."

"It's his diary. He asked me to give this to you in the event of Oliver Chadwick's death. He respected Oliver, but wanted you to know the truth. He realized Oliver would never be able to tell you that truth."

"Oh, Mr. Sotherby…" there were tears in her eyes. "You don't know what this means to me."

"I think I do, Madeline. Your father loved you very much. He kept this diary from the time your mother was killed. He wanted you to know how much Olivia and he had loved you. Why Olivia had given you and your sister up."

"My sister?"

"Yes, you know he found her?"

"He found her?"

"Yes, with the help of an attorney. He and Olivia saw her on Christmas Eve just before Olivia's death; he writes how happy they were."

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"Do you know where she is?"

"You'll find it there in the book. But remember that was years ago, but if you like, I will try to find her for you."

"I want to meet her."

"Go and have your holiday. I will forward the information on to you. If you like, when I find her, I will arrange a meeting for the two of you."

Madeline couldn't say anything. She just held the book and studied the pages. Sloan Sotherby realized the great gift he had given her. He remembered Brett, the day he had entrusted the diary to him. Brett must have realized his death was imminent.

For the last year of his life, Brett Owen had been preparing for his demise. He and Oliver made frequent trips to the cemetery. He spent many hours there working out his plans with Olivia. She was a part of him, an intricate part of him. Oliver knew, to some degree, what Brett was planning. The two of them had become good friends. Whether Oliver ever let Brett's plan slip was something no one would ever know.

Sotherby only knew that Brett Owen had prepared his will; he left everything to Madeline and her sister. Brett had accumulated a nice little nest egg. He had invested wisely over the years; he even invested in the Sheridan Studios, unbeknownst to the big boss! He had ultimately made a fortune off of Leonard Goldstein. Wouldn't Leonard be surprised!

He had made the appointment to meet with Sloan the day he died. Of course, Sloan Sotherby was shocked when he heard the news of Owen's death. The man had been in excellent health. It just didn't make sense. Sloan had subsequently suspected foul play, but he didn't have the courage to broach the subject now.

Brett had let it slip…Goldstein's world was going to crash. But what Brett Owen had planned on telling Sotherby, that day in particular, would never come to light. It was only after Brett's death that Sotherby realized Owen owned enough stock to control the Sheridan Company. Sotherby also knew that none of this could be made public until Oliver Chadwick passed. Brett Owen must have had the premonition that Goldstein wanted him gone.

Sloan looked at the beautiful young woman. She looked just like her mother.

"You realize it wasn't until years later, when your father and Oliver got together, that Brett confided in Oliver that Leonard could never be your father.

Leonard Goldstein had tricked them both. Oliver wasted all those years thinking Goldstein was your natural father, that he could take you away at any time. I imagine both of them wanted to kill Leonard. Leonard Goldstein was a despicable man. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Goldstein got his just reward.

Sloan waited for Madeline to respond, she didn't…then he continued…

"And Brett truly thought he had killed Olivia. I felt so very sorry for him. I knew he loved her, but I always considered it to be a crime of passion. He wanted to vindicate Ledford, but didn't ever want you to know the truth about him."

Madeline started to cry. She realized that Brett had spent the remainder of his life thinking he had killed Olivia. And he had gone to his grave with that knowledge. She didn't have the heart to tell Sloan Sotherby the truth. She pondered on that, exactly which father was she trying to protect? She looked toward Sotherby, studied him for a moment.

"Brett did not kill Olivia…nor did Goldstein."

Sloan Sotherby looked at her…"What do you mean?"

"It was Oliver who killed Olivia, under orders from Leonard, but it was still Oliver who strangled her."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I heard him admit it with my own ears."

Alex looked at the two of them, Madeline and Sotherby. He was astonished that Madeline was able to admit the truth.

"For my sake, I am glad to know the truth; Brett Owen was a wonderful man. It always saddened me to think he had killed the love of his life." "No, Oliver was the guilty one." "Madeline…" Sloan studied her.

"What?"

"I don't think it will ever do any good to admit that it was Oliver…I say let the blame fall on Goldstein, and rightfully so. It will only bring sadness to you and your family; as long as Hartman Ledford is set free it doesn't matter now who killed Olivia. There are no surviving witnesses, only you, I say let it rest."

Madeline lowered her head and started to cry. She had vindicated Brett in Sotherby's eyes, nothing else mattered. Oliver could rest assured, no one else would find out the truth. As Sloan said, only she knew that truth. Goldstein deserved to take the blame.

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Alex put his arm around her, pulled her in until her head rested under his chin. He turned to Sloan…"Thank you."

Sloan nodded. He realized that Madeline would have struggled all of her life with the thought that Sloan might still consider Brett to be guilty of murder. He looked at the two of them. He wondered about the pieces to the puzzle, Goldstein was a powerful man. He hoped he could vindicate Ledford without compromising Madeline. But for now, her natural father was at rest and so was the other…Oliver.

"Oh, and Madeline, there is one thing more…" Sotherby reached inside his lapel and pulled out the beautiful gold chain, from it dipped the heart of gold. "This was your mother's." He handed it out to her. She touched it, took it in her hands and slowly opened the clasp. Inside she found the picture of her mother and father together, and a picture of her.

The tears flowed down her cheek. She turned and hugged Sloan. She didn't let him move for a very long time. When she turned back she clutched the golden heart to her heart.

"I don't know how to thank you."

"You already have."

"You know Madeline, the home is yours. It never belonged to the studio. It is all there in Brett's will. You get the home, the furnishings and the portrait of Olivia…the money is to be divided between you and your sister. Brett also left a valuable pocket watch to be given to your sister when we find her."

Madeline couldn't think for a moment. Her mind sparked…"The portrait of Olivia?"

"Yes, your father painted it; Leonard took it after Brett's death. It will all be returned to you."

She remembered the beautiful painting over the mantle. And then she thought about the house. "The Owen house is mine?"

"Yes, it is all yours."

"I don't know about the house…" The awful memories flooded her mind. She wasn't sure she could ever step foot back in that home again.

Sotherby realized what she was thinking, the sorrow that had prevailed there. But he also thought of the joy that had once existed there between Olivia and Brett. "You don't have to think about it now. You have the rest of your life ahead of you."

The three sat there in silence for the remainder of the ride. Each one thinking of the circumstances that had brought them together. Each one content in the part they had played.

And then Alex thought of the other piece to the puzzle, Oliver's words about Brett's death. Had he been killed? Alex wasn't sure he wanted to share that part of the story with Madeline. He wondered if Sotherby suspected also. Alex contemplated for several moments. Brett Owen was dead; there was no way of changing that. They were all dead. It might be just as well to let them all rest in peace, along with all the other ghosts of Hollywood legend. He looked at Madeline, if he were she; would he want to know the truth? Maybe? Later… much later?

When they reached the airport, Sloan wished them well.

Epilogue

It was December, 1940. Alexandro sat behind the wheel of his 1932 green Maserati, Madeline was by his side. They were cruising down Pacific Coast Highway on their way to their foreign destination. Sloan Sotherby had called them on their arrival back in Los Angeles. The news was good, very exciting. Madeline's younger sister still resided in Long Beach, and she was very eager to meet with them. That is all the information he gave at the time. His words were warm, and Madeline could tell by the tone of his voice he was happy to deliver his message.

The ocean front city was beautiful. It was early evening, and the street lamps had just exploded in golden light. In the twilight they could see the shoreline and the waves crashing against the sand. The wide street was lined with towering palm trees, all blowing in the cool breeze. She moved in closer to him and his arm slid around her.

Downtown Long Beach was known for its grand hotels, most of them had been built in the early 1920's. Some even dated back to the late 1800's. Since that time the city had always been a tourist attraction. In the early days the frequented stay of visitors would last three months at a time. But now most guests limited their stays to several days. The city was rich with excitement. The grand old Pike silhouetted the skyline. It was alive with attractions and anxious tourists. The boardwalk and "The Walk of a Thousand Lights" ran the length from Pine Avenue to the Auditorium and Bathhouse. They could see the lights of the Cyclone Racer and Ferris wheel glittering on the beach. At one time the long strip of smooth sand was used for sports car and cycle racing. They noticed the streets were filled with men in white uniforms…sailors. The majority of them based nearby.

The Maserati weaved in and around the bluffs, and then they saw the tall French Gothic hotel just ahead of them. It was breathtaking. It was the tallest building in the city and sat nested on the side of the cliff. It had a copper roof with a green patina that sparkled in lofty lights. In the middle of the roof loomed a tall steeple, crowned in the same green patina. When they

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rounded the driveway they could see the fierce looking gargoyles perched along the ridges of the higher floors.

A valet was there helping Madeline out of the car. Alex jumped out and came around to her side.

"I just can't believe I'm here, and with you!" Her eyes sparkled.

Almost a year had passed since their first meeting, a year that had changed both of their lives. Madeline looked up into his eyes. He smiled at her, that endearing charm radiating from his face. He leaned into her and kissed her lips. She was just as beautiful as ever. She wore a black beaded evening gown. She also wore the elegant white fox fur. His lips curled when he thought of that fur. She realized exactly he was thinking and dipped her tongue deep into his mouth.

"I think my dear that might just have to wait until later."

His words didn't stop her, she delved deeper and deeper. He felt his blood begin to boil. She let her hand explore his upper thigh. Her touch was soft, she always knew which leg to touch, and her touch would soothe any pain he felt. There were times like this that he wasn't exactly sure if she were Madeline or Liv. But either way he liked it. Either one excited him more than she would ever know. And then she touched him tenderly. And her tongue relented in his mouth. "I love you, Matador." "I know," he answered.

They walked into the hotel and were immediately shown to the Ballroom. They were seated and sipping on French champagne when the lights dimmed for the first show of the evening. The music brought a smile to Alejandro's face.

For a moment Alejandro thought he might be seeing double. For a moment it looked like Madeline there in the bright pink sequined costume. The girl was beautiful. Her strawberry blond hair piled high upon her head with matching rhinestones placed between the curls. He was close enough to see her sparkling eyes…a vivid emerald green. He felt his heart beat rapidly.

"I can't believe it," he uttered.

Madeline did not say a word. She couldn't speak. She had waited months for this night, months to meet a sister she had not known existed.

Ruth Sheridan moved with such grace and beauty, and then she was joined by her partner. He turned her around and lifted her into the air. In one hand he held her, where she lay suspended in the most graceful backbend they had ever seen. The audience erupted in cheers. Madeline and Alex sat spellbound during the entire Adagio number. Ruth was so limber, performing splits and acrobatic lifts with the tall handsome man. He moved well, but it was Ruth that everyone watched. When their dance ended the audience gave them a hearty round of applause.

The show was wonderful. Ruth had been given top billing and was featured in the majority of songs and dances throughout the night. Madeline and Alex found the musical numbers extraordinary. The costumes and sets were elaborate works of art. One number featured the incredible staircase of stars. The men were all dressed in black tuxedos and the women in white flowing dresses. Ruth's dress was made of black netting studded with black sequins. The netting was so fine you could see through to the flesh beneath, her bare essence. Their descent down the lighted stairs reminded Alex of another time. He wondered if Madeline were thinking the same thing. He suddenly felt the need to hold her, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. She smiled and leaned into his body.

But it was the Finale of the evening that really started everyone's blood boiling. The cast was featured in a "south of the border" number, a Latin routine that lifted more than the spirits of the men in the room. The chorus line of women wore the bright colors of ruffled taffeta skirts, pinks, reds, yellows, oranges and greens and all slit up to their thighs. Their midriffs were bare, only their breasts were covered in matching colored bras. They all wore big flowers in their hair. The men wore white trousers and bright colored boleros. The dance was fast and exciting.

Suddenly the music stopped, and the lights dimmed, there was a dead silence in the room, and then the steady beat of castanets. The spot light flashed, and the beautiful women in magenta ruffles stood center stage. Her hands held the black castanets, her fingers and wrists moving gracefully making the rhythmic clicks. A handsome caballero sat close by, the Spanish guitar in his hands. He started strumming softly and then his fingers flew. The sounds of her tap shoes and castanets coincided with the lively cords of the famous Flamenco. The dance was as sensual as anything they had ever seen. Madeline smiled at her Matador, her heart beat like the rhythm of the castanets. Alex touched her hand and both could feel the sparks of desire. It was a great ending, the stars and chorus received a standing ovation.

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They waited patiently to meet with her in person. Madeline was so nervous and tried to make pleasant conversation about the show. Alex sipped on the champagne listening to everything she said.

"It's going to be fine…just relax." His words were soft.

And then she was walking toward them. Madeline and Alex stood up. Madeline's body started to shake. Ruth was dressed in a long black evening dress, she looked stunning. Her eyes looked to Madeline…their eyes locked.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"Madeline Montoya?" Ruth inquired.

"Yes, and you're Ruth Sheridan?"

"Yes, my name is Ruth…Sheridan is my stage name."

"And this is my Matador, Alejandro Vivanco!"

Ruth smiled. "Mr. Vivianco, I'm pleased to meet you."

"Miss Sheridan…"

But before he could utter another word her gaze turned back to Madeline. And then the two women shared a long awaited embrace. Both women had tears in their eyes. Both women held each other.

Alex looked at the two of them…sisters! It seemed unbelievable. They looked so much alike. Then he thought about Olivia and Brett Owen, their daughters together for the first time in their lives. He realized the happiness that had eluded them. The joy they had never known and all because of one man. It was a bittersweet ending. He looked up for a moment, he had the distinct impression that they were there watching. He felt the chill run down his spine and closed his eyes. Was it another ghostly apparition? He blinked…no one was there, but he could feel their presence. Maybe now, they could rest in peace.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about?" Ruth spoke up.

"I guess we do," Madeline answered.

"I imagine it could take us the rest of our lives to catch up."

"Possibly…" Madeline looked sheepishly at Ruth,

"But something tells me you have other thoughts on your mind," Ruth inquired.

Ruth watched Madeline's eyes spark. Her mouth curved into a delectable smile. Ruth could see the amusement in her sister's face.

"What?" she questioned.

And then Madeline gushed…"Well, for starters, how would you feel about being partners in the Motion Picture Business?"


End file.
